


puzzle pieces

by Obscurus343



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dean Thomas/Seamus Finnigan - Freeform, EWE, Hogwarts, Luna Lovegood/Ginny Weasley - Freeform, M/M, Mistletoe, Potions Accident, ROoOOMaaNNCE, Ron Weasley/Hermione Granger - Freeform, Some light angst, also I swear like a sailor so now the characters do as well, bed sharing, but ends with fluff because i'm not a monster, but mostly it's a drarry, eighth year, side ships:, so other assorted students ya know, there's a LOT of snark, well some of them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-27
Updated: 2017-06-11
Packaged: 2018-11-05 15:18:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 25,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11016093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Obscurus343/pseuds/Obscurus343
Summary: After what seemed like a minor, customary Potions accident, Hogwarts is suddenly overrun by six equally irritating, snarky Draco Malfoys...  All of whom insist on following Harry around everywhere.  Just when he thought he'd have one normal school year -No, Ron, it's not karma.  Seriously, Ron.  No.  Shut up.





	1. Chapter 1

 

                The fog hung above the cauldron like a silver heap of translucent snow.  Brushing his pale hair away, Draco Malfoy leaned over the bubbling potion, carefully counting the drops of juniper berry juice as they disappeared into the mist.  Finally, the seventeenth drop fell, and he straightened up, surveying the results. 

 

“Is that it?” 

 

                The impatient voice jolted him back to reality so suddenly that he nearly brought the entire potion down onto the floor.  Scowling, Draco turned around. 

 

“Yes, Potter, that’s it…” 

 

“Merlin.  Finally,” Potter fell back in his seat, the very picture of exhaustion. 

 

“For _this_ part of the process,” finished Draco.  He smirked at the indignation exploding over Potter’s face, and turned his attention to the ingredient supply.  Really, sometimes this was simply _too_ funny. 

 

“Ugh.”  Potter completed his groan of frustration with an anticlimactic grunt and sat back up, pushing up his glasses.  “Alright, what else do we have to do?” 

 

“Seriously, Potter?  Would it kill you to read the instructions once in a while?” 

 

“ _Yes_.  Now just tell me what we have to do, Malfoy, or I’ll pass you the wrong ingredients on _purpose_.” 

 

                That wanker. 

 

“Fine,” Draco brought the knife down onto the scraggly roots with a little more force than necessary.  “You do realize we’ll share the mark for this potion, do you?” 

 

“Just tell me what to do!” 

 

                A few other students turned around at that. 

 

“Sit back, don’t touch anything unless I tell you to, and _try_ to resist causing a scene,” Draco hissed as menacingly as possible, and picked up the stirring rod.  This was becoming tradition, wasn’t it?  _Three stirs clockwise.  Wait three seconds.  Repeat._  

 

                Potter dropped back in his chair. 

 

“I hate Potions,” he declared. 

 

“What astonishing news!”  Draco dropped the stirring rod and gripped his heart with a theatrical gasp.  “The Saviour cannot sit through a simple Potions class!  Who knew?..” 

 

“Oh, shut up, Malfoy,” Potter grunted. 

 

“Hmm, let’s see.  So far, I think it’s the entire population of Hogwarts, the Weasel’s entire family – ”

 

“I said shut up!  And don’t call him that,” Potter added with a glare. 

 

“Alright, settle down there, Golden Boy.  Poor little Potty.  Well, at least you’ve got me to save your entire Potions mark…” He gave a smug grin.  “And Slughorn likes you.  Send him one of those horrendous Weasley jumpers, he’ll give you full marks just to get rid of it.” 

 

“I _like_ those jumpers,” Potter argued, but he was already grinning back.  His eyes sparked to life behind the lenses, full of the rising conflict.  “They’re warm.  And soft.  And really damn comfortable, unlike that starchy stuff _you_ always wear.” 

 

“They’re a fashion crime, Potter.  Actually, you know what, you should wear one to that stupid Slug Club meeting – maybe you’ll finally get the boot…” 

 

“The meeting…  Ugh.  Don’t remind me!”  Potter grimaced.  “And anyway, it wouldn’t work – I showed up in a torn Muggle T-Shirt one day, and I’m still in.” 

 

                The steam in the room was beginning to grow oppressive.  Draco’s hair lay limply over his forehead, and he brushed it away with annoyance.  Th heat was sweltering, and he could all but feel the sweat glistening on his face.  The potion hissed and turned a pale blue colour. 

 

“Pass the berries, Potter.”  _Almost there._  

 

                Creak.  Creak.  Creak.  Potter was rocking back and forth in his chair.  _His_ hair was just as mad as ever, driven only further away from civilization by the humidity.  As far as Draco was concerned, it probably developed a mind of its own already.  How long could it be since Potter tried to brush it?  There’s no way he was anywhere near a hairbrush this morning.  There were probably Nargles living in there – a whole colony of them.  Whatever Nargles were. 

 

“You have fifteen minutes!”  Slughorn’s voice boomed through the classroom.  The chatter rose, driving the clinking of flasks to accelerate. 

 

“Alright, we’re almost done – I just need a beetle to stabilize the whole thing,” Draco said, setting the stirring rod down once more. 

 

“Wha – ?”  Potter snapped out of a daze. 

 

“An emerald beetle, Potter.  Pass me an emerald beetle.” 

 

                He dropped the insect into the cauldron, leafing through the textbook for the description of the final potion.  And then everything blew. 

 

 

                Draco coughed, feeling the wind knocked out of him.  His head throbbed slightly.  He fell over – oh, perfect.  And there was _slime_ all over his face and his robes, Merlin, _no_.  No, no, no way. 

 

“Hey – you alright?..”  A hand cautiously tapped his shoulder.  “Malfoy.  Say something.  Are you alright?” 

 

“Yes,” he rasped, forcing himself to sit up.  “I’m fine.  Though _this_ is disgusting.” 

 

                He wiped the quickly coagulating potion from his cheek and made a face. 

 

“Oh yeah – right, sorry about that!  _Scourgify_ ,” Potter flicked his wand, and he felt the rush of magic spark against his skin.  “Better?”

 

“Yes,” Draco admitted.  Then a shuffling of feet drew his attention behind him.

 

“Oh by all means, _stare_!”  He snapped, whipping his head around a little too quickly.  However, the sharp stab of pain was compensated by the sound of the class returning to their own potions, so he regretted nothing. 

 

                Potter stuck his hand out.  Draco looked at it quizzically. 

 

“Come on,” Potter grinned.  “You gonna get up?” 

 

“Yes, and I can do that by myself just fine,” Draco scrambled to his feet.  “There’s no need to play the hero anymore, Potter.” 

 

“Well fine!”  Potter crossed his arms over his chest, scowling.  “Not like you’d be able to _catch_ my hand, anyway.” 

 

“Excuse me?..”  Draco stilled in his process of counting the slimed ingredients on their desk. 

 

“You heard me.”

 

“Oh really?  Slytherin will still stand more chance than Gryffindor will when _their_ Seeker is blinder than a flobberworm!”  He whirled around, rounding on Potter.  “I _told_ you to give me the emerald beetle, you moron – does this look like an emerald beetle to you?!” 

 

“Hey!  That’s not fair – my glasses fogged over!”  Potter batted his hand away. 

 

“And Repelling Charms don’t exist anymore,” Draco sneered, dropping the fire beetle back on the table.  “My most sincere apologies.  Must’ve missed the memo.” 

 

“Stop being such an arse,” Potter grumbled. 

 

“Couldn’t you at least _wipe_ them?!”  Draco cast a rather violent Cleaning Charm over their workstation.  “Merlin, I hate you.” 

 

“Well, I thought I knew where the stupid bug was!  I wiped them later.” 

 

                Draco scoffed in response. 

 

“Look, I’m sorry, okay?” Potter sighed.  “Quit acting like a prick, I’m sure Slughorn will let us make up this mark…” 

 

“He better!  And I swear, I’ll make you pull your Saviour rank if he doesn’t.” 

 

                Potter _laughed_ at that.  The gall of him. 

 

 

***

 

 

                Harry Potter was making his way across the castle, slinking through as many secret passageways as he could manage.  Dealing with another gaggle of overexcited first years was definitely not something he wanted to do just now, and it seemed like they were everywhere – giggling, pointing at him, and asking him if he could teach them how to fly.  Which was cute, but…  Well.  Maddening. 

 

                Technically, he couldn’t complain.  Returning to Hogwarts for one _normal_ year was a gift in and of itself; everything else just didn’t matter.  Classes went swimmingly (even though Potions still made him want to crack his skull on the desk sometimes), Kingsley assured him that a career with the Aurors was practically guaranteed, and he could play Quidditch again… 

 

And then there were the quiet, warm evenings in the common room – the fireplace crackling, the light of its flames gold on Hermione’s dark skin and dancing in Ron’s fiery hair, when all three of them stretched on the plump couch, after all homework was done.  Ron and Hermione would be smiling and kissing lazily from time to time, the rest of eighth-years would chatter all around them, and Harry would feel more at home than he ever had.  Life was good.  Mostly.  Mostly good. 

 

                As Harry climbed the stairs to the Owlery, he was once again assaulted by the pangs of sadness he’d tried to ignore.  He clutched his letter to Mrs. Weasley.  Fuck, he missed – he missed Hedwig, missed her like his first friend that she was.  And though he didn’t notice her absence so much during the busy summer, the pain hit him like the Hogwarts Express now. 

 

                Thinking of her dignified stare, he pushed open the door to the Owlery, smiling softly in anticipation of the soft _thwack_ of Pig barreling into his chest.  Missing an owl, of all people who lost their lives in the war…  He really needed to move on.  Harry gave a mirthless chuckle and stepped forward. 

 

                And then something did barrel into his chest, but it was definitely not Pig. 

 

 

                Harry swayed back dangerously, enveloped in the most enthusiastic hug he’s gotten since the match against Ravenclaw.  His hand caught the wall just as he was about to keel over, and he froze in the doorway, mind racing to process the situation. 

 

                It wasn’t a first year – too short to be Ron – he wasn’t choking on curly hair, so it wasn’t Hermione – what the hell, what the hell, what the hell –

 

                Harry craned his neck sideways and almost sneezed, having gotten a faceful of platinum blond hair. 

 

“ _Malfoy_?” 

 

                He felt the git smile against his shoulder. 

 

“Hello,” mumbled Malfoy.  Harry took a deep breath. 

 

“What – what the – what are you doing?” he asked.  Malfoy was nuzzling his shoulder and it was very, very weird. 

 

“I’m hugging you, you dolt,” Malfoy informed him. 

 

                Okay.  Harry was getting more confused by the second. 

 

“Yeah, I _know_ what you’re doing, I meant it as in – _why_ are you hugging me?”  He squirmed. 

 

“Because I’m happy to see you,” said Malfoy, as though it was the most obvious thing in the universe. 

 

                All Harry could do was watch the world turn itself inside out before his very eyes.  This was weird.  This was too weird.  He was also starting to enjoy the hug, which was a whole new level of weird. 

 

“What…  But you hate me!”  He blurted out. 

 

                At that, Malfoy broke away, taking the smallest step back.  _His hands are still on my shoulders_ , Harry thought distractedly – but then they dropped away, and he saw the look of genuine hurt on Malfoy’s pale face. 

 

“Do you…  Do you really think that?”  Malfoy asked quietly. 

 

                There was a pause. 

 

“Erm…  I don’t know,” Harry confessed.  “But it’s always been like that, you’ve always hated me – ”

 

“I don’t hate you.” 

 

“What?”

 

“I don’t hate you,” he repeated, suddenly looking very small.  “I mean, I did before, at first – but not anymore – and I know we argue and yell a lot, but I thought it was just…  Just…” 

 

                Malfoy broke off, staring at the floor.  Harry stared at him. 

 

“It was,” he finally said.  “It was just.  Y’know.” 

 

                But Malfoy still looked so forlorn that he reached out and gave his shoulder an awkward pat, feeling him grow completely still under the touch. 

 

“I don’t hate you either, Malfoy.  Not really.” 

 

                Malfoy’s head jerked up, his face suddenly lighting up with a wide smile – an actual warm smile that Harry didn’t think he could have. 

 

“Really?” 

 

“Er…  Yeah?  I guess – umf!” 

 

                He barely finished the sentence before the hug was back.  Malfoy’s arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders, and Harry was pressed, full body, against his warm chest.  It smelled nice – like he’d just been flying.  Harry smiled despite himself, and then the strangeness of the whole situation came galloping back like a herd of hippogriffs. 

 

                Carefully he twisted out of the grip, pushing Malfoy away as nicely as he could manage it. 

 

“Okay – er…  Well, the hug was nice, but seriously, why did you do that?” he demanded. 

 

“What?”  Malfoy looked confused. 

 

“It doesn’t matter if we hate each other or not – we still sort of pretend we do…  Even if it’s just for fun,” Harry added quickly, noticing that kicked-puppy look beginning to reappear.  “We don’t…  Hug, or whatever.  You wouldn’t even let me help you up yesterday!” 

 

“Oh.  You mean that.” 

 

“Yes.  That.”  The point seemed finally to be getting across. 

 

“That wasn’t me.  That was _him_ ,” Malfoy rushed to get the words out.  “And I’m – I’m sorry if that really insulted you, I…” 

 

“Oh _Merlin_ , shut up!  I was never such a sap, don’t lie,” a painfully familiar drawling voice came from behind the owl posts, and Harry nearly had a mental breakdown. 

 

                A second Draco Malfoy approached them, moving at his customary regal gait and showing not the slightest inclination to suddenly embrace his childhood rivals. 

 

“Hello, Potter.” 

 

                That was enough to break the spell of the moment.  Harry’s wand was out in a flash, he’d shoved the first weird Malfoy away, and his hand had pulled the door open, a means of escape at the ready.  Tension stretched like a guitar string between the three of them as they froze in the standoff. 

 

                The first Malfoy stared at Harry with wide eyes.  The second, however, merely raised his arched eyebrows in amusement.  That was annoying enough to drive Harry to the edge. 

 

“Who the hell are you?”  he barked, jabbing his wand at him. 

 

“I’m Malfoy.  Draco Malfoy,” he smirked.  “I’m sure you know that.” 

 

“Great.  Then who are _you_?”  Harry pointed his wand at the other one. 

 

“Draco Malfoy,” he replied.  His voice shook a little.  “Potter, you _know_ me, we…” 

 

“No, I don’t!  Not if there are bloody two of you!  Only one of you can be real, okay – one – "

 

“It’s both of them, you absolute fucking idiot,” a third voice, this one snarling, came from behind Harry – and a third Malfoy pushed his way into the Owlery, shoving him out of the way. 

 

                Harry gaped at him. 

 

“Don’t stare at me, Potter,” this new Malfoy spat.  “I’m absolutely furious as it is, alright, because this is shit, and if we don’t find some way to deal with this right now, I swear, I’ll take this bloody castle apart brick by _brick_ – ”

 

“Shut it,” the second Malfoy groaned.  “Literally nobody ever pays attention to your rants – ” 

 

“I will rant as much as I fucking please, thank you!”  the third Malfoy scoffed.  “And anyway, it’s _you_ nobody ever pays attention to, you realize that, right?” 

 

“It’s rather sad, actually,” added the first Malfoy softly.  “Since you pretty much live to get attention.” 

 

“I don’t – you keep your lying mouth shut – ”

 

“Will _somebody_ tell me what the hell is going on?!”  Harry bellowed, cutting the argument short. 

 

                The Malfoys fell silent, casting each other awkward glances. 

 

“I don’t…  I don’t really know,” finally admitted the second one.  As his polished façade fell away, he looked oddly vulnerable.   “It’s started this morning – they just appeared out of nowhere, Potter, they – ”

 

“Wait – what do you mean, appeared?” 

 

                Harry looked from one pointy face to the other identical ones, and sighed.  Why was he the one always dealing with all the weird stuff?..  He gave a mental groan and turned his attention back to Malfoy. 

 

“Okay, start from the beginning.  When did this happen?” 

 

“This morning.  They appeared this morning.” 

 

“What, you were just going about your business, and then all of a sudden, there’s two more of you?..”  Harry felt lost.  Really, really lost. 

 

“Two more?  Hah!  I wish,” the third Malfoy butted in.  “No, Potter, there’s more.” 

 

“Where are they?”  What the hell.  What the hell. 

 

“Out and about,” the second Malfoy scowled.  “He’s _hiding_.  Behind the cages, over there.  Useless.” 

 

“Alright…”  Harry brought a nervous hand through his hair, trying to pat it down.  “Malfoy, don’t move from your spot – neither of you.  I’m gonna go see.” 

 

                He turned on his heel and stalked over to the large owl cages, trying not to cast too many paranoid looks behind him.  To be honest, the whole situation seemed so surreal that he wasn’t even sure how to feel about it.  It seemed like a fever dream, populated exclusively by irritating, arguing Malfoys.  Shooing off Pigwidgeon, who chose this moment to find him and attempt to make a nest in his hair, Harry turned behind the cage and stopped. 

 

                Malfoy was crouched in the corner, his knees drawn up to his chin and his arms tight around them.  His head was down.  Harry fidgeted with the hem of his sleeve, unsure of what to do. 

 

“Hey – um.  Malfoy.  Are you alright?” he finally managed.  Malfoy’s shoulders tensed, but he remained silent. 

 

                Harry came closer, and knelt next to the tight figure on the floor. 

 

“Malfoy.” 

 

                Malfoy’s head shot up; his grey eyes fixed on Harry’s, fear written all over his face. 

 

“Go away, Potter,” he spat in a strained voice. 

 

“I’m not leaving,” Harry told him.  “Tell me what’s wrong.” 

 

“Nothing.  Go away.” 

 

“Look, I’m trying to _help_ you –”

 

Harry reached out to touch his arm and stopped in midair.  Malfoy had shrunk back, eyes widening, as if Harry was going to – what the hell. 

 

“I’m not going to hurt you, Malfoy,” he said quietly.  “I’m trying to help.” 

 

“Yeah.  _Right_ ,” Malfoy scoffed weakly, pressing himself further into the corner. 

 

“I am,” Harry insisted, confusion wracking his long-suffering brain.   What could possibly force this git to act like this?  “Just tell me, what are you so scared of?” 

 

“I don’t know!” Malfoy snapped.  For a moment, he seemed afraid of his own outburst, but the words were now coming in an unstoppable rush, all at once.  “I don’t know what’s going on – or why the hell this is happening!  And _they_ don’t know, either, so don’t even try!  I’m just terrified, all the damn time – I’m scared of people’s footsteps – voices – my own bloody shadow – I’m – I’m – ”

 

                He stopped for breath, wild eyes searching Harry’s face as if it could tell him. 

 

“I just…  I don’t _understand_ ,” he finished, dropping his head back in his hands. 

 

                Harry looked at him – the fingers tangled between strands of pale hair, and the thin shoulders tensing as he reached out and touched Malfoy’s hand. 

 

“I don’t really know what’s happening either,” he said.  “I’m not even sure you’re real.  But I’ll help you, alright?  We’ll figure it out.  You’ll have to come out of there, though.” 

 

“No.” 

 

“Come on.  There’s not much you can do holed up in a corner.” 

 

“I can’t.  I’m bloody _scared_ , alright?  Happy now?” 

 

“No, I’m not,” Harry decided. 

 

“Well, I’m _still_ scared,” Malfoy’s voice was defiant. 

 

“Oh, stop it.  Come out of there.  I’ll protect you,” he added with a grin. 

 

                Malfoy lifted his head, his eyes sparking. 

 

“You will?” His tone grew unexpectedly authoritative – almost challenging. 

 

                Harry blinked at him, suddenly hyper-aware of his position on the ground, and of the pins and needles working their way through his right foot. 

 

“Yes.  I will,” he said, completely serious this time.  “I promise I won’t let anyone hurt you.” 

 

                He held out his hand.  For a single, excruciatingly long second, Malfoy was still, studying his face – but then his long, cool fingers slid into Harry’s and held on, a new stubbornness leaking into his eyes.  Harry grinned at it, and pulled them both up. 

 

 

                The other three Malfoys, who were whispering violently among themselves, turned around as they emerged from behind the cages with Pigwidgeon in hot pursuit.  The fourth Malfoy still hadn’t let go of Harry’s hand, squeezing it so much it almost hurt, and he all but hid behind his back as they approached the others. 

 

“Oh, finally.  The big baby decides to join the adult world,” the third Malfoy sneered. 

 

“Shut it,” Harry snapped.  This one in particular was getting on his nerves – actually, no.  His bloody arrogance made Harry’s blood boil.  “He’s got a hard time of it as it is.  Not everyone gets to strut around, bitching about nothing!”

 

“Just because he can’t deal with it – ”

 

“That’s why I said he’s got a hard time of it!  And he’s you, anyway – you’re an idiot trying to insult himself,” he shot back.  “Now, I’m just going to send a letter, and then we’re all going to see Madam Pomfrey.” 

 

                After a brief and unsuccessful attempt to tie the letter to Pig’s jumping, outstretched leg one-handedly, Harry managed to persuade Malfoy to let go of his hand for a few seconds.  The grip returned the moment the little owl flew out of the window, and he gave a reassuring squeeze in reply, feeling strangely protective.  It was a weird, weird day. 

 

                Flanked by the four Malfoys, he headed to the Hospital Wing. 

 

 

***

 

 

“You _what_?!”  the third Malfoy all but howled, aghast.  The fourth one gave a stifled squeak and hid behind Harry.  Harry sighed, for what must have been the millionth time this day – which he was pretty sure was about to get even stranger. 

 

                They were all sitting on a narrow Hospital Wing bed, resigned to Madam Pomfrey’s intense scrutiny.  Sunlight poured through the windows, glinting off the Malfoys’ pale hair. 

 

“Now, Mr. Malfoy, here’s no need to shout,” the nurse admonished.  “I’m afraid I won’t be able to help you – the effect must wear off by itself.” 

 

“Er – Madam Pomfrey,” Harry began, shifting on the bed.   Malfoy was still clutching his hand, which, while not exactly unpleasant, was a rather odd situation. 

 

“Mr. Potter?” 

 

“I was actually wondering – well, we all were – the effect of what?  Why is this happening?”

 

                Madam Pomfrey raised her eyebrows.

 

“I’d have supposed Mr. Malfoy would know what caused this.  Then again, maybe not,” she added pensively.  “Especially considering your childhood…” 

 

“And what do you mean by that?”  Malfoy’s voice turned immediately defiant. 

 

“Just that this effect is meant for _children_ ,” Madam Pomfrey assured him.  “And since you wouldn’t have required it as a child, you wouldn’t even know it exists.” 

 

“Alright, but what is it?”  the second Malfoy cut off the other’s angry retort.

 

“It’s the result of that accident you sustained yesterday in Potions,” she finally explained.  “Now, from what Professor Slughorn tells me, at least one of you should know exactly what you were brewing – as well as its properties?” 

 

“Splintered Heart Solution,” came a new voice, and a fifth Malfoy pushed open the door to the Hospital Wing, his head held high.  “A potion meant to channel uncontrolled magic in non-destructive, non-”

 

“Proceed, by all means!” the second Malfoy, who had opened his mouth to reply, scowled.  “Can I _ever_ get a word in?!” 

 

“In a way, you are,” Madam Pomfrey intervened before another argument could take place.  “What you must understand is that powerful accidental magic of the destructive kind is caused by emotions – so what this Solution does is create a way to vent these feelings in another way.” 

 

“By creating copies of the kid?!”  Harry looked at the five Malfoys around him. 

 

“Manifestations of emotions that the child has trouble processing,” the nurse corrected.  “I know you’ve had your fair share of those, Mr. Potter, often resulting in magical accidents.  It can be anger, fear, pain…  Or, in the case of some overly reserved individuals, affection.” 

 

                She gave Malfoy a pointed glance. 

 

“Well, don’t look at _me,_ ” the second Malfoy glared at her, while his doppelganger smiled sheepishly, resting his head on Harry’s shoulder.  “And anyway, how would this potion even work?  I mean, sure, it exploded at me, but I didn’t swallow any!” 

 

                Madam Pomfrey gave him a pitying look. 

 

“Splintered Heart is a potion meant for young, rather difficult children,” she said.  “Skin contact is enough for it to take effect.” 

 

                There was a brief pause. 

 

“Alright.  So how long will the effects last?” the newest Malfoy asked. 

 

“About a month.” 

 

                Malfoy sat back in a stunned silence, and Harry took advantage of this fleeting moment of quiet to contemplate life.  The painting of the hairy diseased wizard on the wall scratched its wart. 

 

“A…  A _month_?” the fourth Malfoy finally repeated in a shaky voice. 

 

“You are correct, Mr. Malfoy,” Madam Pomfrey nodded. “And your magic will go on believing that it requires the potion – if you do not choose to confront your emotional problems during that time – so it may take longer.” 

 

“And…  And how am I supposed to do that?”  the second Malfoy looked appalled at the idea. 

 

“Talk about them, mostly.  Address the issues, vent the suppressed feelings.  Some things you will figure out as you go along,” she told him.  “I am correct in assuming _you_ are the original, am I?”

 

                He nodded. 

 

“Well then.  You will know what to do.  The thing this potion provides really is the opportunity to figure yourself out.  To truly know yourself,” she smiled.  “Now, off with you.  I’ve got Mr. Finnigan waiting with another pyrotechnical incident.” 

 

                The heavy door closed behind them with a wooden finality.  The Malfoys flocked around Harry, and he realized with mild horror that he’d accidentally assumed responsibility for all of them – for a month.  Or longer.  He gave a little shudder at the thought.  Well, it was rather fair, to be honest – the potion was his fault, after all.  But _still_ … 

 

                Harry wasn’t completely sure if he wanted to spend the following month with a Malfoy – or several – latched onto his arm; but then he looked into the terrified face and decided to accept his fate.  The prat was clearly playing to his famed Hero Complex, he bloody knew it. 

 

“Alright…  Um.  I was thinking that we should probably head down to the common room, but…  Is there anything you’d like to do?” he asked.  “Wanna go flying?” 

 

“Who, me?”  Malfoy raised his eyebrows. 

 

“Yeah.  I mean, since you’re the real one.” 

 

“All of us are real, Potter.” 

 

“Original.  Whatever,” Harry trailed off, feeling increasingly stupid. 

 

                Shit.  He should never have gotten involved.  Now there was five Malfoys all staring at him like he’s a total idiot.  Not that this was too different from any other day, except –

 

“Okay,” said Malfoy.  “I was planning to, anyway – let me just get my broom – ”

 

“Aha, no.  You’re not going anywhere,” interrupted he fifth Malfoy.  “That’s about the stupidest thing you could do!” 

 

“Excuse me?  I’m allowed to relax once in a while, and forgive me when I say it’s been a _stressful_ morning…” 

 

“Oh, believe me, I know,” sneered Angry Malfoy.  “But it’s going to get much worse when the entire school decides I’m up to something, alright – so you, all of us, we’re going down to the fucking common room, and we’re going to _tell_ everyone what happened!  I don’t want to deal with any more shit.” 

 

                Tired of his rant, he leaned against the wall, clenching his fists. 

 

“Merlin.  I didn’t think of it that way,” Harry said, struck by the truth of the statement. 

 

“That’s because you don’t _think_ , Potter,” scoffed the fifth Malfoy. 

 

“Well, neither did you!  Not at first,” Harry said defensively.  “We’re going to the common room.  Come on.” 

 

“Glad you changed your mind,” admitted Angry Malfoy.  “At least now I don’t have to babysit _this_ idiot while you’re up in the air…” 

 

“Shut up, or you _will_ be,” Harry threatened, and set off to the dungeons, pulling Scared Malfoy after him.  He didn’t wait for the other Malfoys to follow.  He knew they would. 

 

                When they walked in, the Eighth-Year Common Room was blissfully empty.  This time of day on a Saturday, everyone would be out, enjoying the brief hours of freedom – so nobody was there to barrage Harry with questions.  He was glad for the respite, even though he knew what was coming; he had a feeling that Malfoy would get absolutely insufferable when confronted with the situation, so personally, Harry was willing to put the conversation off until the evening. 

 

 

“What the hell?!” 

 

                The exclamation rang through the room as the door slid open, and Harry gave a mental groan.  Here it was.  He knew that Ron liked to act as though he’d seen everything during his years at Hogwarts and later in the war – but he also knew that the sight of your best mate, surrounded by five identical copies of your once-sworn-enemy would go a long way to change that stance. 

 

                Meanwhile, Ron rubbed at his eyes, crossing over to the couch, which was currently occupied by the offending spectacle. 

 

“Harry, what’s going on?” he asked miserably, when the Malfoys stubbornly refused to vanish. 

 

                Harry gave an apologetic shrug. 

 

“Why – why is there five of them?” Ron questioned, blinking at the Malfoys.  “And why is he…” 

 

                His eyes fell upon the Malfoy whose head was resting in Harry’s lap, and he broke off helplessly. 

 

“You know what, I’m not even gonna ask.” 

 

“Thanks,” Harry smiled gratefully.  “Listen, where’s Hermione?  We’ve kinda got a little problem…” 

 

“You could say that,” Ron gave a nervous chuckle, still staring at the Malfoys.  The Malfoys stared back owlishly.  “Yeah, ‘Mione’s coming – she just stopped to talk to Professor Vector, told me not to wait for her…  But what’s going on?” 

 

“None of your business,” snapped Angry Malfoy. 

 

“Hey!  What did I tell you?”  Harry scolded. 

 

                Malfoy groaned. 

 

“Sit quietly, don’t argue with myself, don’t insult Weasley,” he listed off. 

 

“See that you don’t,” Harry warned, turning back to Ron.  “Look, I can explain – but let’s just wait until Hermione gets here, then I can tell you both…” 

 

“Tell us what?” 

 

                Hermione ran into the common room, pulling off her hat to free her bushy hair.  

 

“O-oh…” 

 

                She stopped in her tracks.  Behind her, chattering voices signalled the arrival of the rest of Eighth Year, and Harry cast his friends a pleading look, gesturing to the dormitories. 

 

“Can we – can we talk about this in private?” 

 

“Good idea,” nodded the fifth Malfoy, leaping down from his perch on the back of the couch.  “Pleasure to see you, Granger,” he added.  “Finally, somebody with _brains_ …” 

 

                They rushed off to the boys’ dormitories with the Malfoys in tow – closing the door just as he common room was flooded with laughing students. 

 

“Alright, what’s going on?” Hermione demanded when they had finally agreed on a seating arrangement. 

 

“Er…  Remember that accident in Potions?” Harry blurted. 

 

“Yes, you threw in a fire beetle…  Oh.” 

 

                Her hand flew to her mouth. 

 

“Yeah,” Harry shifted awkwardly. 

 

“What is it?  What were you brewing?”  Ron looked as lost as before.  “Guys, you know I don’t take Potions anymore…” 

 

“Splintered Heart Solution,” Hermione sighed, looking at Harry with sympathy. 

 

“Bloody hell,” Ron groaned, dropping his head in his hands.  “I should’ve known, really.  Dammit, Malfoy.  Seriously?” 

 

“It was all Potter’s fault!” Malfoy insisted.  “He gave me the wrong beetle, the whole thing could’ve been avoided if he’d just wiped his stupid glasses – ”

 

“Alright, alright, we’ve covered this!” Harry glared at him.  “ _Everything_ is my fault, as usual – hold on.  Ron, what did you mean, you should’ve known?  You know this potion?” 

 

“Yeah,” Ron answered, shrugging.  “My second cousin Jerry, he had pretty serious issues with accidental magic, so finally his parents caved and dunked him in a cauldron of Splintered Heart.  It wasn’t anything bad, just weird – there was, like, ten of him running around…”

 

“Wow.”

 

Harry sat back, pondering this information.  At least there was only five of Malfoy.  He couldn’t imagine what his life would become with _ten_ –

 

“Harry!” 

 

                He snapped out of his thoughts. 

 

“What?”

 

“I was just asking – when did this begin?” Hermione was looking at him curiously. 

 

“Uh…  I don’t really know,” Harry admitted.  “I met him in the Owlery, but the angry one appeared earlier.” 

 

“Okay.  Malfoy, do you mind telling the story?  It’ll help us figure out how to best deal with the whole thing,” she added. 

 

                Malfoy grunted in acceptance. 

 

“Fine.  It started this morning.” 

 

“How?  What were you doing at the time?” 

 

                Hermione was clearly getting into her interrogation mode, which Harry reluctantly found rather terrifying.  Judging by the fingers digging into his hand, Malfoy agreed with him.  That would be a first, he thought with a smile, and turned his attention back to the conversation. 

 

“I wasn’t doing _anything_ ,” Malfoy was saying.  “I just had breakfast, and I was going to the common room to grab my broomstick…” 

 

“But something had to happen to trigger this,” Hermione pressed on.  “The potion remains inactive unless you _feel_ something intense, so – ”

 

“I ran into Smith, alright?” Malfoy spat. 

 

“Zacharias Smith?” Ron wrinkled his nose.  “Ew.” 

 

“Yes, and he thought he was being a smartarse, so I got angry and _that_ happened,” – he jabbed his finger at Angry Malfoy – “and it scared me shitless, okay, so now there’s _this_ moron, who won’t let go of Potter, because apparently he lacks the notion of basic _pride_ – ”

 

“Okay, I _get_ it,” Hermione said irritably.  “There’s no need to yell at us, we’re trying to help!  By the way, when did this one happen?” 

 

                She pointed at the Malfoy seated on the floor, leaning against Harry’s legs. 

 

“This one…  Ugh,” Malfoy groaned.  “I was in the Owlery, about to send my parents a rushed, rather embarrassing letter, but then Potter walked in – and the next thing I know, _he_ ’s strangling him to death.” 

 

“He hugged me,” Harry said with a wide grin. 

 

Ron burst out laughing. 

 

“Oh, man.  Now I think I can die happy,” he wheezed. 

 

“I wish you did,” hissed Angry Malfoy, but was unanimously ignored. 

 

                Hermione got down to the floor, spreading a sheet of parchment in between the beds.  She tapped at it with a quill. 

 

“So, to summarize – we’ve got Angry Malfoy, Scared Malfoy…” 

 

“Cuddly Malfoy,” Harry added. 

 

“Cuddly Malfoy,” Hermione agreed, as Ron fell off the bed, clutching his stomach in a fit of silent laughter.  “By the way, which one are you?  You don’t seem to have a predominant emotion…” 

 

                She glanced up at the fifth Malfoy quizzically. 

 

                He considered this. 

 

“Well…  I appeared right after Pomfrey asked us a Potions question, so I suppose I am the studious one,” he finally said. 

 

“You do act like you do in Arithmancy,” she nodded. 

 

“Nerd Malfoy!”  Ron declared happily.  “Write it down: Nerd Malfoy.” 

 

“Alright,” Hermione conceded, scribbling on the parchment.  “I don’t think “nerd” is an emotion though, it’s strange…” 

 

“Yeah, but it’s still a part of his personality that he tries to repress,” Harry guessed.  “Maybe that’s enough?” 

 

“Hey!  I’m right here, you know,” Malfoy complained. 

 

“And you’re secretly a nerd,” Harry told him, grinning. 

 

“At least I have the brains to be one, Potter,” sneered Angry Malfoy.  “You, on the other hand, are the reason we’re in this fucking mess – ”

 

“Shut up!” barked Ron, glaring at him.  “Sheesh.  You know, this says something about you, Malfoy.” 

 

“And what is that?” Malfoy challenged, raising his eyebrows. 

 

“You get dosed with Splintered Heart, and the first one to appear is _this_ arsehole,” Ron nodded to himself wisely.  “This…  This means _something_.” 

 

                Malfoy rolled his eyes. 

 

“Smith’s enough to drive anyone to this, Weasley,” he said. 

 

“And anyhow, I was not the first,” drawled Angry Malfoy. 

 

“Shut up!” Malfoy snapped, glaring at him. 

 

                Harry blinked. 

 

“Not the first?  What do you mean?”  he asked Angry Malfoy, who smirked in reply. 

 

“I mean that I was not the first to appear, Potter,” he explained, speaking slowly, as if to a complete idiot. 

 

“I said shut up!” snarled Malfoy.  “Don’t you dare say another _word_ – ”

 

“There’s another one?  Where is he?”  Harry was finally hit by the significance of it. 

 

                Angry Malfoy leaned back against the bed, smirking. 

 

“Tell me, Malfoy!”  Harry raised his voice in frustration.  “It’s important, you know that!” 

 

                Malfoy closed his eyes and turned away, while his doppelganger lifted his face to meet Harry’s gaze head-on. 

 

“He ran off.” 

 

“Where is he?” Harry demanded. 

 

Angry Malfoy’s jaw tightened. 

 

“I don’t know,” he said, his scowl returning.  “Probably still sniveling somewhere in a corner.” 

 

 

***

 

 

                Harry stood outside of the first-floor girls’ bathroom, staring at the door.  He’d almost tripped over Ron’s legs as he left the dormitories, leaving Hermione to explain everything to a very confused Neville, who’d just walked into the room, looking for his scarf.  Nobody tried to stop him, so he went – he went straight here.  He knew Malfoy would be here.  Of course, he knew. 

 

                Harry reached for the handle.  But as soon as his fingers brushed the cool metal, blood and running water flooded his head – a scream – Malfoy, trembling on the floor – choking – tears, his own – Myrtle wailing – blood, blood, _blood_ – NO! 

 

                His hand dropped to his side. 

 

“No,” Harry told himself.  “It’ll be different this time – he’s not the angry one, and he _said_ he doesn’t hate me anymore, we’re _friends_ …” 

 

                The door remained blank and unresponsive, a mute reminder of the nightmare that happened behind it. 

 

“It will be different this time,” he repeated. 

 

                Steeling himself, Harry pushed the door open and stepped inside; and then an ice-cold knife stabbed into his chest. 

 

“Argh!” 

 

                He scrambled back, but the cold remained, squeezing his heart until he thought it would stop.  Panting, he forced himself to open his eyes – and stared into Moaning Myrtle’s transparent face. 

 

                She was furious.  Her jaw clenched, her eyes hard behind the thick glimmering lenses of her glasses, Myrtle was glaring at Harry with borderline hatred.  Her hand was plunged into his chest, and he could barely breathe. 

 

“What are you doing here?” 

 

                Her usually plaintive voice was now threatening. 

 

“What – ugh – Myrtle, you’re hurting me!” Harry gasped, trying fruitlessly to jerk away. 

 

“ _What are you doing here?_ ” she repeated, tightening her ghostly grip. 

 

                What the hell – _how_ the hell – he had no idea ghosts could even do something like this –

 

“Malfoy,” he choked out.  “I need to find Malfoy.  Have you seen him?” 

 

“No!” she screamed.  “No!  I’m not letting you anywhere near Draco – you’ll hurt him again!” 

 

“I w-won’t,” Harry protested, his entire body shivering down to its core.  “I promise, I won’t, I’m here to help him…” 

 

“Save your breath.  I don’t trust you!” 

 

“I don’t care!”  Harry burst out.  “Look, he needs help, and he sure as hell can’t stay in a bathroom overnight – ”

 

“M-Myrtle?..  Who is it?” 

 

                A small voice came from the depths of the dark lavatory, growing more insistent. 

 

“Who is it?” 

 

“No-one,” Myrtle called.  “Don’t worry, Draco, it’s no-one.” 

 

                The bathroom was plunged into silence once more, except for the water gurgling in the pipes.  Then the icy fingers loosened, and Harry felt Myrtle’s hand withdraw, gasping as warmth flooded into his lungs.  He rubbed at his chest, squinting through the dark. 

 

“Will you really help Draco?” asked Myrtle quietly, and he nodded vehemently. 

 

                She narrowed her eyes, studying his face. 

 

“Alright,” she finally said.  “You can go in, but leave your wand here.” 

 

                Harry hesitated, then drew out his wand, and set it carefully on the edge of the sink.  It lay there, a dark line against the white enamel – quiet, motionless.  Harmless. 

 

                Careful not to make too much noise, he sloshed his way across the ever-wet tiled floor, thanking heavens that his shoes didn’t squeak.  _There wasn’t anyone by the sink…  The first stall was empty…  So was the second…_

 

                He stopped in front of the fourth stall.  The door stood ajar, and the dim light from the windows worked its way inside – where Malfoy sat on the U-bend, hunched over and staring at the floor. 

 

“Malfoy,” Harry said softly. 

 

                He looked up, and Harry sucked in a breath.  The pale light now fell directly on Malfoy’s face; his eyes were red, and tear tracks ran down to his pointy chin, which stuck out defensively. 

 

“Potter.  So, you’re no-one now, are you?” 

 

“Yeah,” he chuckled weakly.  “I guess so.” 

 

“What’re you doing here?”

 

“I came to get you,” Harry said.  “You can’t sleep here, can you?” 

 

                Malfoy sniffled. 

 

“How would you know?  Never tried it, might as well…” 

 

“Come on,” Harry insisted.  “We should get back to the common room, before Filch has a meltdown…” 

 

                He broke off at the expression on Malfoy’s face. 

 

“Malfoy, what happened?” he asked quietly. 

 

“What do you care?” 

 

“What – I just do!  Look, I…” Harry trailed off.  Then something clicked in his head.  “It was Smith, wasn’t it?” 

 

                Malfoy was silent.  Water slithered through the pipes with a gurgle.  Harry waited. 

 

                Malfoy breathed in. 

 

“Do you – do you know what he said?  Smith?”

 

                His voice was catching in his throat.  Harry shook his head. 

 

“He said that – that I shouldn’t even be allowed in the school – that scum like me shouldn’t…” 

 

                His lip began to tremble. 

 

“And oh, it’s so _stupid_ that I even came back…  Because everybody – everybody hates me, anyway – ”

 

“No-one hates you –  ”

 

“Yes, they do!  Do you think I don’t see the way they look at me?..  And, and – ” 

 

                Malfoy choked on the words, burying his face in his hands. 

 

                When he spoke again, his voice was muffled. 

 

“He said…  That it’s p-pointless, trying to win _favour_ with you by helping you in Potions.  You’ll never be my friend anyway.  And I know that!”  he burst out.  “I know that, but did he have to _say_ it?..  I was fine pretending, I was – ”

 

                His words turned into a sob and he broke off, sniffling and shaking, as horrible strangled moans broke through his fingers. 

 

                Harry stood looking at him.  His mind felt like it was being torn in two – one half ready to run all the way across the castle to punch Smith in the face, and the other…  He stepped closer. 

 

His hand reached out and brushed against Malfoy’s cheek, wet with tears – and Malfoy leaned into the light touch, shuddering as another sob tore through him.  Harry pulled him closer, and Malfoy tipped forward, until he was resting against Harry’s chest. 

 

Harry knelt on the floor, wrapping his arms around Malfoy’s thin, trembling frame, which was pressed helplessly against him.  The tiles were damp and cold, and the air smelled strongly of mildew, but he didn’t care – Malfoy was crying, and clinging onto him like that was his only chance at survival, and Harry wasn’t going to move. 

 

                He rubbed soothing circles into Malfoy’s back, whispering reassuring nonsense as the sobs gradually died away, and Malfoy relaxed in his arms. 

 

“Shhh – it’ll be fine – everything’s gonna be okay – it’s alright…” 

 

                Malfoy gave a low hum in response, turning his face to press his forehead against Harry’s collarbone.  Harry leaned back against the wooden wall of the stall, and stroked his hair softly. 

 

“Malfoy...  D – Draco,” he corrected himself.  “Draco, Smith is an idiot.  And he’s wrong – he’s wrong about everything.” 

 

                Draco looked up at him in confusion. 

 

“What?” 

 

“He’s wrong, Draco.”

 

“Is he now.  No, Potter.  He’s right, that’s why it fucking _hurts_ so much – ”

 

“He still had no right to say these things,” Harry said, hoping his voice would carry his conviction.  “He didn’t have a madman holding his family hostage – ” 

 

“Oh, amazing.  All my sins are absolved,” Draco sneered, sniffling again. 

 

“Look, that’s not what I mean!” Harry raised his voice slightly in exasperation.  “What you did was shit, sure, but you knew that, you tried to make up for it – you helped us rebuild Hogwarts – that’s more than he can say for himself.”

 

“So?..  I – ”

 

“And that night at the Manor,” Harry added.  “You knew it was me, I could see it.  You could’ve identified me.  And then I’d be dead, and Ron and Hermione too and everyone else…” 

 

                Draco was staring at him, wide-eyed. 

 

“I still did everything else, too,” he mumbled. 

 

“I know,” Harry sighed.  “Sure, you’re a mess.  But then, so am I, and so are a lot of people.” 

 

                Draco scoffed weakly. 

 

“You’ve made wrong choices, but that doesn’t mean you don’t realize it now, right?” Harry pressed on.  “You’d never repeat them.  You know they were wrong.” 

 

“Well, I’m not an idiot, am I?” Draco buried his face in Harry’s robes again.  “Merlin, I’m sorry – I’m so sorry…  And I mean it, Potter, I swear – I know I sort of apologized before, but I – I mean it, really…” 

 

“I know,” Harry said.  “I believe you.” 

 

“It was so _stupid_ …” 

 

“Yes.  It was.” 

 

                They remained like that for a minute or two – Harry holding Draco tightly, and Draco clutching at him, his breaths still slightly uneven and shaky.  Draco gave a little shiver, and Harry suddenly became aware of the cold wetness seeping into his own body from the floor. 

 

“Do you think you can get up now?” he asked.  “If not, it’s fine, it’s just – I’m kinda cold, and we really should be heading back…” 

 

“What – oh!  I’m sorry,” Draco gasped, and scrambled to his feet, his expression shifting to embarrassment. 

 

                Harry followed. 

 

“Are you feeling better?” he asked. 

 

                Draco nodded. 

 

“Yes,” he said.  “It – it still hurts, but it’s fine – I can deal with it.” 

 

“Okay.  I guess that’ll do for now,” Harry decided.  “Come on, everyone’s waiting for us.  I just need to get my wand, Myrtle’s holding it hostage…” 

 

 

                The common room was in chaos when they walked in.  Cuddly Draco was sitting on the couch, hugging a serene Luna like there was no tomorrow; Pig was perched on his head, hooting happily.  Nerd Draco was engaged in a vigorous academic debate with Hermione, Terry Boot and Ernie MacMillan, who seemed to be showing off and enjoying himself immensely.  Scared Draco was hiding under the table, casting terrified looks at a laughing Ginny, while Ron, Neville, Dean and Seamus were attempting to lure him out with a Chocolate Frog.  Angry Malfoy occupied a nearby armchair, ranting imperiously at Blaise and Pansy, who sat listening to him with the weary faces of seasoned veterans. 

 

                Draco himself stood alone at the end of the room, scowling at the insanity unfolding before him.  Then his eyes fell on Harry. 

 

“Oh, there you are, Potter,” he drawled.  “I was starting to think Myrtle gave in to temptation and drowned you in a – what are you doing?..” 

 

                The room fell silent as Harry strode across, straight to Draco, and pulled him in a tight hug.  Draco stiffened, his breath catching. 

 

“What…  What are you doing, Potter?” he breathed, confusion plain in his voice. 

 

“I’m hugging you,” Harry mumbled. 

 

“I know that, but I’m not _that_ one, he’s over there, on the couch, with Lovegood – ”

 

“I know.  I wanted to hug _you_ , okay?” Harry burst out.  “Because – I wanted to, and, and Smith doesn’t decide who I’m going to be friends with!  _I_ do.  And I wanted you to know that.” 

 

“But – ”

 

“Shut up, Draco,” Harry told him, tightening the hug. 

 

                He felt Draco grow still at the sound of his first name, and his face burned – he shouldn’t have said all that, he said too much, he shouldn’t have –

 

                But then a tentative hand touched his back.  Draco relaxed against him, and then held on just as tightly as he did, and Harry felt something warm creep up his throat. 

 

“I’m your friend, Draco,” he said softly.  “I’m sorry I never told you that, and I don’t know if you really want to be _my_ friend anymore, but…  Well, I’m yours.” 

 

                The room was completely quiet, except for Pigwidgeon’s excited twittering. 

 

“Okay,” Draco whispered.  “I’m – I’m your friend too, Potter.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised - chapter 2! Hope you guys like it =) 
> 
> (also like, please comment, it makes my day, really)

 

               Harry Potter was falling asleep almost before his head hit the pillow.  That Transfiguration essay drained whatever life was left in him after Quidditch practice, and he barely had the energy to rig up a _Tempus_ to wake him up in the morning.  However, now that he was in bed, his mind raced in a mad vision of the upcoming Quidditch match, refusing to let the sweet, welcoming darkness claim him.  He tossed and turned, squeezing his eyelids shut, until the images in his head grew lazy and sparse. 

 

               He was drifting off, his head almost completely empty – except for that damn voice…  But that was fine, he’d had dreams worse – it didn’t even sound like Voldemort.  It wasn’t scary, just hellishly irritating, and he could deal with that… 

 

“ _Potter_ ,” the voice hissed. 

 

               Harry ignored it. 

 

“ _Potter!”_  

 

               This time, it was louder, and a rather whiny quality worked its way into it.  Dazedly, Harry realized that it wasn’t a dream – the voice was standing right beside his bed, calling his name –

 

“Uggh,” he groaned.  “Lemme sleep…” 

 

“ _No_ ,” the voice whispered violently. 

 

“ _Merlin_.  Whaizzit?..”  Harry yawned, almost drifting off again. 

 

“I can’t sleep,” the voice complained. 

 

“Well, I can’t either, now that you’re – wait, _Malfoy_?” 

 

               Harry sat up on the bed, grabbing his wand to cast a quick _Lumos_.  Malfoy jerked back from the sudden light, raising his hands as if to shield himself from a curse.  Harry sighed in frustration. 

 

“What’re you doing here?” he asked, lowering his voice when Neville shifted on the nearby bed.  “Seriously, it’s like, twelve or something!” 

 

“It’s one-thirty,” Malfoy muttered.  “And I can’t sleep!” 

 

“Well, good for you,” Harry said sulkily, squinting at his blurry shape. 

 

“No, it’s not _good_ ,” Malfoy hissed.  “I’m scared of the bloody dark, and I can’t sleep, I’ll – I’ll have nightmares – ”

 

“And how am I supposed to help?” Harry whispered furiously.  “Sing you a lullaby?  Hold your hand?  Check under the bed for monsters?” 

 

               The git actually stopped to consider this. 

 

“Technically, all of that would be nice,” he admitted, and suddenly blanched even further.  “Wait, there are _monsters_?” 

 

               Harry gave a frustrated groan. 

 

“There aren’t any monsters!  It’s an expression, they’re not real…” he said, pinching his nose.  “Look, just go back to bed, please, I’ve got a match tomorrow…” 

 

               Malfoy’s eyes grew wide in the silver light of the wand. 

 

“I can’t!..  Potter, I can’t, I’m _scared_ – and _he’s_ angry with me, he said he’ll…  And now I’ll just keep thinking about the monsters…” 

 

“The monsters aren’t real,” Harry told him.  “And he’s not going to hurt you, you’re the same person – ”

 

“So?” Malfoy scoffed.  “They hate me, Potter – all of them.  And they hate each other, too.”

 

               Harry sighed, feeling himself give in. 

 

“Alright.  What do you want me to do?” 

 

“I don’t know,” Draco said miserably.  “Merlin, I don’t even know… I just want to stop feeling so fucking terrified all the time, I want it to stop – urgh!” 

 

               He broke off, losing his balance as Harry grabbed his hand and pulled him down onto the bed.  Setting his wand on the night-table with a whispered _Nox_ , Harry dragged the covers over them and dropped back onto the pillow. 

 

“Is this better?” he asked softly. 

 

               Draco’s eyes were big and scared, reflecting the greenish light of the underwater window. 

 

“Yes,” he whispered. 

 

               He leaned forward, resting his forehead against Harry’s shoulder.  Harry smiled as his arms went automatically around him.  He stroked Draco’s back, feeling him breathe in and out, and yawned.  Sleep was returning quickly to wrap around him once more.  It felt peaceful – he felt comforted and wanted, and the world seemed to shrink until they were the only ones left in it.  No fear.  No anxieties.  Everything was gone. 

 

“Good-night, Draco,” he said quietly. 

 

Draco mumbled something in reply.  Harry’s eyelids fluttered shut, and he drifted off to the sound of his quiet breaths.  For the first time in months, he didn’t have any nightmares either. 

 

 

***

 

 

               Early in the morning, Harry plopped down at the Gryffindor table, feeling immensely pleased with himself.  They had made it through a week – a whole week of six Dracos roaming Hogwarts.  And while it was true that the old castle weathered more irritating things every day, it still seemed like an accomplishment.  At least, to Harry personally – though he was certain that the rest of Eighth Year would agree with him. 

 

               Somehow, though, everybody fell in tune with their new pet insanity, weaving it into routine alarmingly quickly no matter how weird it was.  The second day in, Harry got used to waking up to a bed full of Scared Draco, who would whimper sleepily as Harry detached himself from him – and then complain about being abandoned when he came back from the loo. 

 

Dean and Seamus found it endlessly amusing.  Neville consigned himself to sympathetic shrugs. 

 

               Scared Draco was easily the greatest change to Harry’s daily life.  They soon found out that he was unable to stay in the common room by himself, and that Harry was the only person he trusted – thus following him around from dawn…  Until next dawn.  And the next. 

 

               Ron seemed to believe that it was some kind of divine payback for sixth year; Hermione thought that since Harry was the one to save Draco’s life in the fire, this behaviour was actually quite logical; and Harry complained about it – passionately and at length, while holding Scared Draco’s hand. 

 

               And as if that wasn’t weird enough, every morning now started with an obligatory hug from Cuddly Draco.  He, as Harry quickly learned, would go for the rest of the day moping if that didn’t happen – no matter how much time he spent with Luna and Ginny, who pretty much adopted him by Day Three.  Harry also was surprised to learn that he _hated_ seeing Draco like that. 

 

               Actually, the hugs happened every evening as well – when Harry relaxed on the couch, and found Cuddly Draco sitting next to him, not quite touching – as if he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to do that. 

 

               Harry would pull him in every time.  Seamus thought it was very moving. 

 

               They would sit there, Harry leaning back against the cushions, while Draco chattered about Potions, Nargles and thestrals.  He played with Harry’s fingers, and a quiet hum of voices and flipping pages hung in the air. 

 

               In moments like these, Harry would hold him close, and wish the month never ended.  To be honest, he wasn’t sure if this could still happen once the Splintered Heart wore off.  The arguing was fun, the sham conflicts kept him alive – but this was…  This was _nice_.  It made him feel at home.  Safe.  Happy.  And almost like he could forgive Scared Draco completely when he grabbed his hand and didn’t relinquish it until it was time for bed – and, well, not even then. 

 

 

Harry smiled at the memory and helped himself to the treacle tart.  It was rather difficult to do with one hand, but he managed. 

 

“Hello, Potter,” came a quiet voice, and Harry found himself being hugged softly from behind. 

 

“Good morning, Draco,” he said, grinning as he twisted on the bench to return the hug. 

 

               This – he could get used to this. 

 

               Cuddly Draco strolled over to the Slytherin table to join the other three, and Ron crash-landed in the seat in front of Harry, the perfect picture of suffering. 

 

“Harry, mate,” he groaned.  “Look, I know you and Malfoy are mates now and all, but he’s a royal pain in the arse.” 

 

“Which one was it?” Harry asked, already knowing the answer. 

 

“You _know_ which one,” Ron confirmed moodily.  “The – the you know!  The Arsehole one.” 

 

“Aw, come now, Ronald,” Seamus slid into the seat beside him with Dean, shaking his head in mock disapproval.  “He’s not _that_ bad.”

 

               Ron looked pained. 

 

“How can you _say_ that?..”

 

               Seamus gave a smug grin. 

 

“Lads, I swear.  I’ve found out more gossip in this one week than in all my years at Hogwarts.  Like, did you know that Daphne Greengrass and Terry Boot – ”

 

“Fifteen minutes, mate!” Ron argued.  “ _Fifteen bloody minutes_ , he had me cornered!  I don’t wanna hear any more!” 

 

               Dean burst out laughing, giving Seamus’s hand a little affectionate pat, as he sputtered in theatrical outrage. 

 

“I had to listen to who shagged who, and what some little smartarse told him,” Ron continued wretchedly.  “And what wonderful comeback he came up with, and how he hates _everything_ …”

 

“Oh, you were lucky, Ron,” Hermione smiled, sitting down next to him.  “When he was ranting at me on Wednesday, the content was much less varied.” 

 

“Merlin, same!” Neville looked up from his porridge.  “I don’t know what I expected after what Pansy and Blaise told me, but – ”

 

“A Potter rant, was it?” Dean asked sympathetically. 

 

“Yeah!  I swear, every second word out of his mouth…” he trailed off, shaking his head. 

 

““Potter”,” Hermione sighed. 

 

“Bloody hell,” Ron said in an awed voice, leaning over to kiss her.  “I don’t know how you bear it, ‘Mione, you’re…  You’re a saint or something.” 

 

“Ugh, I’m pretty sure we all qualify for _that_ by now,” Neville decided. 

 

               Harry was feeling intensely confused. 

 

“What are you talking about?” 

 

               Dean shrugged. 

 

“I know, it’s weird.  Seriously, Harry, you’re all he can talk about!  Maybe, I dunno, maybe it’s time to give in?  Give him some attention?” 

 

“Oh, no,” Harry argued.  “I can’t, he makes me so…  I get just as horrible as he is, and I hate that, I – ”

 

               Scared Draco looked up. 

 

“Are you angry with me?” he asked in a small voice. 

 

“I’m not,” Harry told him.  “I just don’t know what to do about the other one – ”

 

“And how long exactly will it take you to realize that we’re the same fucking person, Potter?” a loud voice demanded, and Angry Malfoy shoved at his shoulder.  “All I want is for you to bloody _listen_ to me, but no, that’s too much for the _Chosen One_ – ”

 

“I will, okay?  But later,” Harry promised, shoveling the remains of the treacle tart in his mouth. 

 

“Ugh, don’t talk with your mouth full, Potter, that’s disgusting…  Wait, when is _later_?  Stop, where are you going?!” 

 

               Harry didn’t stop.  For now, it meant freedom, so he fled the scene, dragging Scared Draco behind him as they ran through the Great Hall.  

 

               This, he knew, would bite him in the arse. 

 

 

               When Harry finally trudged back to the quiet common room, it was mostly empty, except for Neville and Hannah Abbot, who were huddled by the fire with what seemed to be a sentient fluffy cactus.  Harry gave them a wave, and dropped down onto the couch, feeling the tension drain from his shoulders.  He loved Hogwarts, he really did, but that Potions test was brutal enough to kill. 

 

“Defeated Voldemort, couldn’t survive a quiz,” he muttered to himself with a low chuckle. 

 

“No wonder, Potter.  You never knew how to apply yourself beyond brute force,” came a drawling voice, and Harry jerked up. 

 

               Angry Malfoy was approaching him from the dormitories, his face set in determined fury.  Harry groaned. 

 

“What _now_ , Malfoy?” 

 

“What now?!” he sputtered indignantly.  “I’ve been trying to fucking talk to you for a week, and you – ”

 

“Look, maybe it’s because I don’t _want_ to talk,” Harry snapped, getting to his feet.  “All you are is angry, and all you do is make me angry as well, and I don’t want to be like that!” 

              

               Neville’s fluffy cactus jerked at the sound, and started shivering.  Hannah shot them a scolding glance as she attempted to soothe it.   Malfoy glared at him. 

 

“You have to face it at some point, Potter,” he sneered. 

 

“Well, it’s not now.” 

 

“Then, when will you?  You’ve been avoiding me this whole time, and I _need_ to talk, alright – it’s part of the treatment – ”

 

“Well, don’t you have anyone else to rant at?..” Harry stared at the ceiling in a desperate plea for escape.  “You’ve buzzed their ears off from what I hear, that’s more than enough talking…” 

 

“No, it’s not!  It’s not, and I’ll decide when it will be,” Malfoy snarled, shoving Harry back down onto the cushions and planting himself into his lap for good measure. 

 

“Ow, Malfoy – get off me, what the hell – ”

 

“That’s so you don’t run away again,” Malfoy told him.  “This time – this time, you will _listen_.” 

 

               Harry narrowed his eyes at the ominous tone in his voice.  A nagging feeling told him that it bore no good news – and he was trapped, with an angry, excruciatingly talkative Malfoy in his lap.  His brain was beginning to hurt with the depressing inevitability of the whole messed-up situation. 

 

               The suspicion was confirmed an hour later, when Harry was still sitting on the plump cushions, and Malfoy was telling him everything he never wanted to know about the general population of Hogwarts.  Frankly, he had half a mind to bust Lockhart out of St. Mungo’s if it meant forgetting some of the details of what he just heard. 

 

               Other eighth-years had come and gone hastily, casting him sympathetic glances.  Harry thought sadly of Ron, who looked almost on the verge of casting a Full Body-Bind on Malfoy – but was steered off by Hermione for the sake of “communication development.”  That was the last hope gone. 

 

“… And then fucking Zabini is all, “oh yeah, I’d know…”  I mean, seriously?!”  Malfoy glared at Harry – who had finally managed to zone out – as if daring him to dispute Zabini’s profound guilt.  “Then again, you probably wouldn’t know…” 

 

               Harry blinked at him, trying hopelessly to remember what he was saying before, and failing. 

 

“Erm, okay?..” he tried.  “Why, though?”

 

“Well, it’s not like you’ve ever made out with Nott, have you?..  Wait – have you?” Malfoy suddenly demanded. 

 

“ _No_ ,” Harry told him.  At least one thing in his life was certain. 

 

“Good,” Malfoy nodded.  “Neither have I, Nott is annoying.  You know, once in fourth year, he – ”

 

               Harry groaned, letting his head fall back on the back of the couch, closing his eyes, and hoping Malfoy would be gone when he opened them.  He had no such luck. 

 

               Malfoy was scowling at him, interrupted mid-sentence. 

 

“What is it _now_ , Potter?”

 

“Nothing,” Harry lied, and almost immediately realized he could not live up to the lie.  “It’s just…  Why do you fucking _hate_ everyone so much?!” 

 

“And what do you mean by _that_?”

 

               Harry raised his eyes to the ceiling. 

 

“Just – you keep talking.  You keep talking until I think you’ll never shut up, and you never say anything nice about anyone!  Even your friends!” 

 

“So?  They’re annoying, and I talk about things I’m angry about, I – ”

 

“And do you even know how _draining_ it is to listen to all that?” Harry almost screamed in his face, cutting off whatever he was going to say.  

 

“I don’t care, Potter, at least _I’m_ honest about how I feel,” Malfoy sneered at him. 

 

“ _Honest_?” Harry repeated incredulously.  “Even if they’re so annoying – there’s no way you can be so angry with them all the bloody time, it’s just not normal!”

 

He paused for breath, glaring at Malfoy. 

 

“And the things you say about everyone else?..” he pressed.  “It’s like you hate every single person in the castle, and that’s just sick – ”

 

“Alright, so maybe it is!” Malfoy snarled, shoving at his shoulders.  “But it’s no more sick than _you_ are, pretending you don’t, and just fucking _smiling_ at everyone like everything’s fine!” 

 

               Harry stilled. 

 

“What?” he breathed out, his tone dangerous. 

 

“You know what I said.  You feel it too and you know it, you’re living a lie, Potter – ”

 

“No, I’m not!” Harry snapped.  “I don’t _hate_ anyone, I’m over that – ”

 

“Oh, of course you are,” Malfoy drawled.  “So when first-years just _assume_ that you’ll want to talk to them, you don’t hate them.  And when Slughorn won’t shut up about your _glorious_ victory, you don’t hate him.  And when your _friends_ keep snogging and don’t even ask if you still – ” 

 

“Shut up, Malfoy,” Harry growled.  “I’m not you.  I _don’t_ hate my friends.” 

 

“Yes, you do!  When they leave and forget about you, you hate them – ”

 

“I don’t!” Harry burst out.  “Because I know they still care about me, okay, they followed me into a bloody war!  And they have their own lives, which shouldn’t revolve around me, they _shouldn’t_ be worrying about me all the time!” 

 

“Then who will?” Malfoy scoffed. 

 

               Harry stared at him in confusion. 

 

“Nobody should be worrying!  There’s been enough of _that_ – ”

 

“Do you even hear yourself?..” Malfoy glared at him with exasperation.  “You’ve been through hell, Potter, you’ve _died_ , for fuck’s sake!  You can’t sleep properly, either, because you have nightmares about it every other night, and you’re – ”

 

“What?  I – no, I – how do you even know about that?” Harry blurted out before he could stop himself. 

 

               Malfoy looked at him like he was an idiot. 

 

“We share the fucking bed, Potter.  In case you haven’t noticed.” 

 

“Yeah, but that’s not…” Harry trailed off. 

 

“We’re the same person, moron!  So don’t think you can hide anything from me.  You’ve had the bed under that muffling charm since the beginning of term, haven’t you?” 

 

“I didn’t want to wake anyone!” Harry protested. 

 

               Malfoy rolled his eyes. 

 

“Amazing.  So you – you can’t leave it all behind because of some stupid honour code, and you have massive abandonment issues, and nightmares all the fucking time – but all you’re worried about is waking them up?..  Merlin, why do I even try?!” 

 

“Try _what_?”

 

               Harry made another futile attempt to get up.  Malfoy merely stared at him, shaking his head.  

 

“You’re pathetic, Potter,” he went on, gripping Harry’s arms so hard it hurt.  “And you just have to be this hero everyone wants you do be, don’t you?..  Fuck, you make me _furious_.” 

 

               His grey eyes burned into Harry’s like ice-cold coals, but the anger wasn’t really there anymore. 

 

“Do you even _know_ how to think of yourself?..” he asked hopelessly. 

 

“Look, Malfoy, I don’t need to,” Harry said.  “I’m fine, I told you.  And I _don’t_ want people to worry – ”

 

“Quit it, Potter.”

 

“I don’t understand – ”

 

“Oh of course you do!  You _want_ somebody to worry about you.  Everyone does.  So why… Why can’t you just _admit_ it?..” 

 

“What – ”

 

               Harry broke off as Malfoy tipped forward, until his forehead was resting just under Harry’s collarbone. 

 

“You’re such an idiot,” Malfoy mumbled.  “You’re a fucking idiot, Potter, and you drive me mad…”

 

               Harry’s hand had gone up automatically to rest on Malfoy’s back, and he stared at the top of his blond head, which looked oddly vulnerable for a person sitting on top of him.  

 

“So what are you saying, then?” he asked finally.  “Are _you_ worried about me?” 

 

               Malfoy snorted. 

 

“Well, you do exist to ruin my peace, don’t you?” he muttered.  “That’s what you _do_.” 

 

“I really don’t,” Harry sighed. 

 

“Yes, you do,” Malfoy insisted.  “Don’t even dare deny it, that’s the reason for your entire existence!”  

 

“Alright.  Thanks.” 

 

               He felt Malfoy frown. 

 

“For what?” 

 

“I’m not sure,” Harry admitted.  “Caring, I guess.” 

 

“I don’t _care_ , Potter,” Malfoy told him, his fingers tightening on Harry’s arm.  “Don’t flatter yourself.” 

 

               Harry gave a quiet chuckle. 

 

“Sure.” 

 

               He reached his hand up.  His fingers found Malfoy’s – cold, thin and tense, clutching the soft fabric of Harry’s jumper – and curled around them gently.  He heard Malfoy’s breath catch, and for a few quiet, strange moments they sat there, each afraid to move.  Then Malfoy jerked his hand away and sat up. 

 

“This is stupid, Potter.” 

 

               Harry blinked. 

 

“What?” 

 

“Look, even if I cared – which I don’t – I prefer different terms of affection.  I don’t _croon_ over things like you Gryffindors are fond of doing – ”

 

               Harry felt the corners of his mouth rise. 

 

“Oh, so you mean like when you call me an idiot, or an uncivilized oaf, or – ”

 

“I expect you to have more brains than that fucking hippogriff, _alright?_ ”

 

               Harry frowned in confusion. 

 

“Wait, you mean Buckbeak?”  

 

               Malfoy grunted. 

 

“That _thing_ had a name?” 

 

“Oh, shut up,” Harry said, his mind racing to make sense of it.  “So, you’re saying that you didn’t _mean_ to insult Buckbeak?  Back in third year?” 

 

               Malfoy cast him an incredulous look. 

 

“ _Mean_ to?  You seriously thought that I _meant_ to anger a towering monster with claws the size of butcher knives, which I was _petting_?”

 

               Harry had to admit that he felt rather dumb. 

 

“Er…  Yeah?  Sorry?” he offered. 

 

“Merlin.  You know, the extent of your brain damage is far worse than I – ”

 

“Shut up, Malfoy,” Harry said.  “Look, I’m glad you didn’t.” 

 

“What?”

 

               Malfoy’s fingers tightened on Harry’s jumper. 

 

“I’m glad that you’re less of a prat than I’d thought,” Harry grinned, reaching for his hand again. 

 

               Malfoy jerked it away once more. 

 

“Stop it.  It’s still stupid.” 

 

“What?  I thought you wanted to – ” 

 

“Oh, sorry – did you think we were going to braid each other’s hair?” Malfoy scoffed.  “Talk about crushes?  Should I hire a few Cupids to recite poetry?” 

 

“Ugh, no thanks,” Harry grimaced.  “Once was quite enough for me.” 

 

               Malfoy was silent for a moment, studying his face.  Finally, his mouth twisted into a gleeful smirk. 

 

“Riiight,” he drawled thoughtfully.  “I’d forgotten about that time in second year…  That Valentine _was_ something, though, wasn’t it, Potter?  A memory to cherish, am I right?” 

 

“Definitely.  Right up there with that time you were a ferret,” Harry deadpanned. 

 

“Shut up, Potter.  Now, how’d it go?..” 

 

“Shit, Malfoy, don’t _recite_ it!”

 

“And why the fuck not?” Malfoy demanded.  “I’m proud of it, you know!” 

 

               Harry paused in his wretched groaning and stared at him blankly. 

 

“Wait, what?”

 

               He felt like his entire life could be summed up in those two words, now more than ever.  Malfoy, still perched in his lap, regarded him with a superior air. 

 

“I’m proud of it,” he repeated.  “Then again, I don’t expect a plebeian like you to understand the joys of creation – ”

 

“You’re saying _you_ wrote it?” 

 

“Merlin, you _are_ slow.  Yes, I did!”

 

               Malfoy glared at him.  Harry sat back on the cushions and tried to force the world to make sense.  He looked up and found Malfoy still glaring. 

 

“So _you_ wrote that stupid thing,” he said weakly.  “I always thought it was Ginny – _you_ said it was Ginny!” 

 

               He pointed an accusing finger at Malfoy, who pouted in reply. 

 

“Well, you didn’t like it, did you?”

 

               Harry stared at him. 

 

“Did you…  Did you _want_ me to like it?” he asked, absolutely dumbfounded. 

 

“I rather enjoy it when my writing is given its due,” Malfoy said pompously.  “Of course, I should’ve taken into account your inability to appreciate the fine arts – ”

 

“That’s a load of crap,” Harry snorted.  “That poem was ridiculous.” 

 

“Shut your ungrateful mouth, Potter!  I personally think it was amazing for a twelve-year-old.” 

 

“It was ridiculous, and you know it,” Harry laughed, poking him in the stomach. 

 

               He stopped when he saw the expression on Malfoy’s face. 

 

“Hey…” Harry started slowly, his hand wavering in midair.  “Er – Malfoy…  Are you _ticklish_?” 

 

“ _No_ ,” Malfoy said, a little too defensively. 

 

               Harry flashed a predatory grin and his hands shot forwards.  Malfoy keeled over, writhing on the couch as Harry’s fingers ran over his ribs over and over – he was laughing, his eyes watering and his face flushed – his hands were trying to bat Harry’s away, but he was laughing too hard for that.  Harry was leaning over him, grinning; then Malfoy’s finger brushed under his jaw, and he was retaliating – and Harry could no longer remain propped up on his hand, shaking with laughter. 

 

               Malfoy was tickling him everywhere – somehow, his fingers found their way to every weak spot Harry had, on his belly and near his left armpit and beneath his ribs.  He was absolutely merciless, despite squeaking and gasping for breath himself –

 

“Oh Merlin, don’t – Draco!”  Harry wheezed, as he felt his fingers approaching his neck. 

 

               The fingers froze.  Harry gasped, propping himself up on his elbows, and grinning as he looked up at Draco’s face – and stopped.  Draco was looking at him in wide-eyed shock, and Harry felt concern immediately take over. 

 

“What is it?” he asked. 

 

“Nothing,” Draco said, his tone oddly strained.  “It’s just…  You’ve never called me Draco before.” 

 

               Harry frowned. 

 

“What do you mean?  I’ve been calling you Draco for almost two weeks now – ”

 

“No, you weren’t,” Draco said.  “Not… Not _me_.” 

 

               Harry stared at him, and he stared back defiantly. 

 

“What…” Harry began, and stopped, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion. 

 

“Well, you’ve called all the others by my name, didn’t you? But not me!”

 

“Were you _jealous_?  Of _yourself_?” 

 

               Draco was silent. 

 

“Oh, sweet Merlin.  You were.” 

 

Draco’s scowl was returning, and Harry fell back on the couch. 

 

“You’re unbelievable, Draco, I swear.  You’re the most unbelievable, crazy person I’ve ever – ”

 

“Okay, so what if I was?” Draco snapped.  “It wasn’t…  You call me Draco when I’m scared or sad, or when I’m being all _nice_ , but…  I’m not _like_ that.  Not really.  I’m – I’m…” 

 

               Harry lifted himself up again, looking at him.  Draco avoided his eyes, instead studying the gravy stain on his jumper, and Harry suddenly felt a surge of guilt. 

 

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. 

 

               Draco scoffed in response. 

 

“I’m still not really nice,” he muttered stubbornly. 

 

“You’re alright,” Harry shrugged.  “And you also get sad and scared, and some days, you’re a git, but…  Well, that’s normal, isn’t it?  Everyone does that.” 

 

               Draco was still looking away.

 

“You don’t like me when I’m like this, though.” 

 

“Sometimes,” Harry admitted reluctantly.  “It’s just – the fighting feels too real when you’re so angry.  It feels like…  Like _before._   Like you really hate me.” 

 

“I don’t!” Draco insisted, finally looking up at him.  “I told you that, I thought you believed me – ” 

 

“I did, but I keep thinking you might just ditch anyway, I’m…  I’m not used to being friends with you.” 

 

               Draco’s knuckles were white. 

 

“So this makes me feel as if it’s already happening,” Harry finished awkwardly.  “I’m sorry. I know it’s stupid.”

 

“It’s not,” Draco said, his gaze flitting away again.  “I – I sometimes think you still hate me, too.”   

 

               Harry swallowed and reached out to touch his hand, and this time, Draco didn’t jerk it away – even though his shoulders tightened at first. 

 

“I don’t hate you,” Harry said softly.  “I…  I actually quite like you.  A lot.” 

 

               A look of vulnerability flashed across Draco’s face, and he fought to replace it with indifference. 

 

“Merlin, Potter,” he scoffed.  “You’re such an idiot.” 

 

“Hm.  Am I to interpret this as a term of affection?” Harry waggled his eyebrows, and Draco swatted at him.  “And anyway, it’s not fair for you to throw a fit about me not using your name, and then just keep calling me Potter.” 

 

“So?” 

 

“So, call me Harry.” 

 

“Alright then, _Harry_.  You’re an idiot,” Draco told him. 

 

“Amazing!” Harry clutched his heart.  “That’s practically a declaration of love!” 

 

“Oh, shut up!” 

 

               Draco lunged at him again, attacking in every place he could reach.  Harry almost shrieked when his fingers brushed his neck, and shoved him over in retaliation.  He twisted, and then Draco was lying on his back, almost doubling over and trying bat Harry’s hands off as he poked at that spot at Draco’s right side.

 

They scuffled on the couch, wheezing, until collapsing breathlessly on the cushions.  Somehow, Draco managed to reverse their positions again, and Harry leaned his head back as he lay there, gasping for air – which was rather difficult to do, considering that Draco was stretched out on top of him.  He straightened his glasses, which had been knocked askew, and gave a last low chuckle, closing his eyes. 

 

“Merlin.” 

 

“Shut up, Potter.  Don’t talk.” 

 

               Draco propped his chin up on the backs of his folded hands.  Harry could feel his breathing – still irregular and panting, and smiled as it quieted down.  He opened his eyes, and saw a quiet, unsure smile on Draco’s face. 

 

“Do you want to rant about anything else?” he asked.  “Nott’s snogging skills?..” 

 

“No,” Draco mumbled.  “I’m tired, and Nott is stupid.” 

 

“Okay,” Harry agreed, smiling.  “So you’re not angry anymore?” 

 

               Draco paused, thinking.  His fingers were tracing absentminded patterns on Harry’s cheek. 

 

“I’m still angry about some things,” he said slowly.  “But not at you.  Not really.” 

 

“That’s good.” 

 

               Draco hummed in response.  He shifted a little, turning his head to the side, so that it rested on Harry’s chest.  Harry reached over and took his hand, Draco’s pale fingers stark against his own dark skin.  He ran his thumb gently over the back of Draco’s hand, feeling a rush of strange, warm tenderness toward him – all of him.   

 

The Draco that ranted unrelentingly.  The Draco that somehow knew every bit of gossip in Hogwarts.  The Draco that wrote stupid Valentines, and then blamed them on other people.  The Draco that was still insecure after months of friendship, and tried to pretend he didn’t care – because in fact he did, and had no idea what to do with that. 

 

Harry hugged him a little tighter and smiled when the hug was returned.

 

 

***

 

 

               The air in the Transfiguration room was vibrating with magic, as the chronically sleep-deprived members of the split eighth/seventh-year class held each other at wandpoint.  Professor Keating strolled past the desks, his eyes sweeping over the students, as they attempted, over and over, to give their partners a new eye colour. 

 

“They say that eyes are a window to the soul,” Keating was saying.  “And while that may be false, the fact remains that these odd organs rank third among the known transfiguration-resistant objects.” 

 

               Hermione Granger paused in her attempts to alter Weasley’s eyes and scribbled a quick note.  Across the room, a haggard-looking seventh-year hastily did the same. 

 

“Remember, students!  The first attempts at this spell are bound to be unsuccessful, but do not despair.  This magic requires hard work, concentration – and, above all, trust,” Keating finished with a chuckle. 

 

               He turned on his heel, and strode back to the front of the room, resuming his pacing cycle.

 

               Draco, who was practicing the wand motion, gave a mental groan.  Trust.  Overall, a moronic concept – one his perpetually anxious arse has obviously never heard of, and with good reasons. 

 

“Hey – careful!  You’ll jab my eye out at this rate,” came a laughing voice, and a hand clamped around his own, stilling it. 

 

               Draco’s eyes snapped back to Harry, who grinned at him, releasing his hand.  His fingers lingered a little, and Draco felt a flush working its way to his cheeks.  Damn his pale complexion.  What was the point of aristocratic pallor when it was so easily affected by everything?.. 

 

               Well.  Not quite everything.  This – this was just Harry…  Draco blinked, shooing the thought away, and his hand jerked again before he could stop it. 

 

“Dammit, Draco,” Harry said, shaking his head in mock disappointment.  “Remind me again, why should I trust you?” 

 

“Merlin, no.  Never trust anyone.” 

 

               Harry leaned back in his chair and chuckled, balancing it on the two back legs. 

 

“You’re not anyone.” 

 

               It was a recipe for disaster, Draco’s brain helpfully supplied.  The chair was going to break, Harry was going to fall and crack his skull on the edge of the desk behind them, there would be a pool of blood, and Draco would have to fix everything –

 

“So?” Draco asked. 

 

               It’s not like he was incapable of fixing everything.  He learned more healing spells during last year than he’d ever need now, he could fix Harry Potter’s stupid messy head –

 

“So, I trust you,” Harry said. 

 

“Stupid, but fortunate,” Draco told him.  “After all, my mark depends on this…  However, you still _shouldn’t_ trust anyone.” 

 

“You don’t tell me what to do!” Harry announced in a voice of a petulant child, and giggled. 

 

“Whatever you say, Harry.  Whatever you say,” Draco muttered and raised his wand. 

 

               Harry’s face broke into a wide smile at the mention of his name, and Draco’s heart did an odd little leap.  It was so easy to keep this idiot happy.  It was rather endearing. 

 

               He twirled his wand in his fingers before pointing it at Harry’s face.  Fuck it all, Harry actually trusted him – he had to, if he let him do that.  He had to trust Draco even to give him this wand back at all.  Draco’s fingers tightened around the hawthorn wood. 

 

“ _Pictis Oculo!_ ” 

 

               Harry’s eyes remained stubbornly green. 

 

“ _Pictis Oculo!_ ” Draco repeated, giving the tip of the wand another circular swirl. 

 

               His eyes were actually emerald green – and almond-shaped, with unexpectedly long black lashes that left greasy streaks on the lenses of Harry’s round glasses.  Those were the same ones he’d had since first year, weren’t they?..  The idiot. 

 

               Then again, his face would look wrong with different frames.  Better keep these old ones.  It was a nice face.

 

“ _Pictis Oculo!_ ” 

 

               His eyes were so bright, and they sparkled as Harry looked up at Draco expectantly, waiting for him to get the spell right.  Harry was smiling at _him_ , and there were little creases in the corners of his eyes, like his laugh was about to burst through, but it wasn’t malicious.  It was nice –

 

“ _Pictis Oculo!_ ” Draco enunciated clearly. 

 

“No luck yet?” Harry asked. 

 

“No,” Draco admitted.  “I should be able to do this, though.” 

 

“I know you are.  Er – should I take off my glasses?..  Maybe they’re in the way?” 

 

“No, no – it’s fine.  Glass shouldn’t stand in the way of this spell, it’s not part of your face…” Draco reassured him.  “I’ll just keep trying.”

 

“Okay,” Harry said, nodding.  “Don’t worry, you’ll get it.” 

 

“Of course, I will!  Don’t you dare doubt me for one second, Golden Boy.” 

 

“Don’t call me that!” Harry complained.  “What happened to “Harry”?”

 

               Draco just laughed, raising his wand again. 

 

“ _Pictis Oculo!_ ” 

 

               Harry was smiling at him, and oh Merlin, Draco still couldn’t understand why.  Probably because Harry was too damn _nice_ for his own good.  These past three weeks, Draco had been a mess, a literal mess of emotions terrorizing Hogwarts – that should’ve been enough to keep anyone at a ten-foot radius at least.  But Harry…  Harry stayed with him from the first mad, surreal day. 

 

               Harry stayed with all of him. 

 

“ _Pictis Oculo!_ ” 

 

               Harry hugged him when he was crying his eyes out on the wet floor of Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom, and he didn’t pull away when Draco needed some contact, some affection, _something_.  Draco was such an insecure fucking moron, too – but Harry didn’t laugh at him for that.  He was – he was just wonderful, this whole time – 

 

               With his perpetually messy hair.  With his little habit of picking at his nails when he was nervous.  With his incessant fidgeting, and his Quidditch jokes.   And his eternally chapped lips – they were probably rough, and tasted of treacle –

 

 _“Pictis Oculo!_ ”

 

               This had to stop.  Fleeting daydreams were not worth losing Harry anyway.  He cared so much about everything, and laughed at the stupidest jokes, and Draco was getting addicted to that. He was almost afraid of the Splintered Heart wearing off, because who knew if Harry really wanted to stay with him, beyond that famed Hero Complex of his?..  

 

“ _Pictis Oculo!_ ” Draco repeated, pushing the thought away. 

 

No, Harry did want to stay – he said himself they were friends.  And now his eyes were so bright, and he was smiling – really smiling – at _Draco_ – and he _trusted_ him –

 

“ _Pictis Oculo!_ ”

 

               Harry gave a sharp intake of breath.  The colour of his irises swirled, as if stirred by the tip of Draco’s wand, and he squeezed his eyelids shut, shaking out the last sparks of magic like a wet dog.  Draco felt an odd warmth spreading through him as he watched Harry take off his glasses and rub his eyes.  Harry was beautiful, really, albeit slightly ridiculous from time to time. 

 

               And thankfully he was not a Legilemens.  If he knew what Draco had been thinking, he’d never talk to him again.  He’d probably try to be nice about it, he was just like that – but he’d be gone nevertheless. 

 

               Harry looked up. 

 

               Draco’s eyes widened.  Harry was looking at him with an identical grey gaze, which was quickly shifting into concern.

 

“What is it?” he asked worriedly.  “What’d they turn into – shit, they’re not _red_ , are they?..” 

 

“Sweet Salazar, no!”  Draco hurriedly reassured him, while mentally feeding the flash of a white snake-like face to the Giant Squid.  “Nothing like that, they’re fine…  It’s just…” 

 

“What?” 

 

               Harry visibly relaxed and tilted his chair backwards again.  Ugh, no – there it goes again, he’s going to fall and crack his head –

 

“I, uh – I think I gave you _my_ eyes,” Draco told him nervously. 

 

“And a most interesting result that is,” pronounced Keating, approaching their table. 

 

               He stroked his chin pensively, considering their confused glances.  Shit.  Shit, fuck, Merlin’s soggy day-old pants.  They were Draco’s bloody eyes, that was as good as screaming it to the sky…

 

“Trust is an essential component of this spell,” Keating said.  “I have to admit that I envy the level of trust you have reached, Mr. Potter – to not only accept a magical alteration from another, but to allow it to be such a personal one.  It is _you_ , after all, who chose this colour.” 

 

“The spell takes choice into account?” Draco asked in surprise. 

 

“All magic does.  And so does our fate,” Keating added philosophically. 

 

               He smiled and turned his attention to Longbottom and Millicent Bulstrode, neither of whom could get the spell to work. 

 

“He’s right, you know,” Harry remarked, pulling out his own wand. 

 

               Draco raised his eyebrows. 

 

“What, about fate?” 

 

               Harry gave his wand a practice flick. 

 

“Yeah.  I’ve heard it before, from – er.  From Dumbledore.  Choices matter, they make us who we are.” 

 

“Well, doesn’t that sound grand and important,” Draco drawled, shifting in his chair to find a more comfortable position for what was bound to be a lengthy procedure. 

 

“I’m serious!” Harry insisted.  “The Sorting Hat takes choices into account, too – it almost put me in Slytherin – ”

 

“ _What?_ ” 

 

“I know,” Harry laughed.  “Seems weird now, doesn’t it?  But point is, it was bent on Slytherin at first, except I asked it to – ”

 

“Hold on a second!” Draco interrupted.  His mind was whirling.  “You _asked_ to be sorted into Gryffindor?  You told me you didn’t know anything about the wizarding world before Hogwarts!” 

 

“I didn’t,” Harry said.  “And I didn’t ask for Gryffindor specifically, I just – I’d heard that all Dark witches and wizards were from Slytherin – I mean, _now_ I know that’s not true, but back then – ”

 

               He broke off, belatedly realizing he started to ramble, and looked away, suddenly small.  Draco swore mentally and decided to deal with the new information later.  It wasn’t worth it, Harry didn’t need to worry about it, not when it was making him look like that –

 

“You know what?  It doesn’t matter,” Draco said. 

 

“What?”

 

“Whatever choice you made, I’m glad you at least survived it.  Gryffindors are known for self-destructive tendencies,” he told Harry, and was rewarded with a soft chuckle.  

 

“Oh, if you only knew…” Harry muttered, grinning. 

 

“I’m not sure I want to,” Draco parried.  “Now get on with it, you still need to alter _my_ eyes sometime during this century.” 

 

“This century?!” Harry gave a fake gasp.  “I’m so flattered.  You’re really too confident in me.”   

 

“Oh, you know – insane Gryffindor hero and all, you’re rather impressive.  Though I agree that appearances may be deceiving,” Draco sighed.  “Perhaps in reality, you’re thicker than a turnip…” 

 

“I am not!”

 

“We’ll see how you deal with this spell.” 

 

“Well, that depends on you too,” Harry pointed out with a smirk.  “So, Draco – do you trust me?” 

 

               His newly grey eyes were fixed on Draco’s with a focused intensity as he raised his wand.  They were so much like Draco’s own – except that warm sparkle in them was Harry’s, and Harry’s alone.  It made Draco’s heart clatter against his ribs like it was going to burst.  _It’s real.  I – I – ._

 

“Yes, Harry,” Draco said softly.  “I trust you.”

 

               He knew, when the magic touched him and Harry gave him a brilliant, beautiful smile, that his eyes were green.  He had made his choice – the worst one he could ever make, as usual. 

 

 

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is - the last chapter, as promised! Epilogue to follow tomorrow =) 
> 
> As usual, comments highly appreciated!
> 
>  
> 
> ***

                This year’s Christmas found many of the students unwilling to go home and face grim reminders of the losses they suffered during the war.  Thus, many of the eighth years had stayed – and thrown themselves into preparation for the season, blotching out the memories and threatening to bring the castle down by the end of December.  The past few days were enough to give Filch a nervous tic. 

 

“Harry, get down!” 

 

                Ron’s shout came just in time for Harry to jump out of the way of a burst of colourful sparks. 

 

“Thanks,” he said gratefully. 

 

“Any time, mate,” said Ron, shrugging, and wrinkled his nose at the smell of singed hair.  “Bloody hell, Seamus really outdid himself this year…” 

 

                Seamus, Susan Bones, Anthony Goldstein, and Pansy Parkinson had been charged with hanging the streamers for the first interhouse Christmas party.  Thinking back on it, Hermione admitted herself that it wasn’t a very good idea – when they were done, streamers hung from every free spot of roof in Hogwarts, and somehow morphed into writhing, hissing, inextinguishable sparkler snakes.  A red-faced Seamus accepted full blame for any burns and damages, receiving a month’s worth of detentions.  But in the meantime, the hallways were becoming increasingly difficult to navigate. 

 

“Ugh, I know,” Harry laughed.  “The weird part is, I’d bet my life Flitwick knows how to get rid of them, but he claims he can’t do anything…” 

 

“He’s in on it!” said Ron with conviction.  “I’d bet he helped them get the house colours into the sparks – I mean, there’s no way that’s a coincidence – watch out, mistletoe!” 

 

                Harry did a quick sidestep and swore under his breath, casting a dirty glance at the ceiling.  Neville and Hannah infested Hogwarts with a colony of semi-sentient mistletoe, which was on its way to becoming the bane of Harry’s existence.  The plants were charmed to seek out potential kissers on their own, trapping them in a cage of vines until they snogged, and for some reason decided to pursue him in every corner. 

 

                Neville swore that he had nothing to do with the charm, and nobody really knew who was responsible for the menace – but everyone secretly blamed Zabini.  Harry himself was at the brink of challenging him to a duel for this hell. 

 

“I dunno, Harry,” Ron said pensively.  “I think it’s kinda neat.” 

 

“You’re just saying that ‘cause it gives you and Hermione the excuse to snog every five seconds,” Harry snorted. 

 

“That it does,” Ron admitted dreamily, his ears turning slightly pink.  “Bloody brilliant.” 

 

“Yeah, sure, it’s alright for you!” Harry protested.  “But I’m not even dating anyone, and it’s still chasing me around.  It’s driving me nuts!” 

 

“I still think it’s brilliant,” Ron decided, adjusting the broomstick on his shoulder. 

 

“Ha-ha,” Harry muttered with a half-hearted glare.  

 

“Well, Dean and Seamus agree!” 

 

“And so do Neville and Hannah, and Millicent and Anthony, and every other crazy couple in Hogwarts – ”

 

He glanced around warily before turning the corner.  The mistletoe was making him more paranoid that Voldemort ever had.   

 

“Ginny and Luna don’t like the mistletoe,” Ron pointed out. 

 

“That’s because it’s full of Nargles.” 

 

“Of what?..  Oh, forget it,” Ron said with a dismissive wave.  “Come on, hurry up – we still need to put our brooms away before the party!” 

 

                Harry groaned as they set off toward the dungeons. 

 

“Remind me, why am I going again?..” 

 

                Ron looked at him with pity. 

 

“Because it’s going to be _fun_ ,” he said in a patient tone.  “Parties are fun, and everyone’s been stressed to their eyeballs lately, what with the exams and all – ”

 

“That still doesn’t explain why _I_ must go,” Harry muttered. 

 

“You need to have some fun!” Ron announced.  “I mean, you don’t even talk to people anymore, it’s just been me, Hermione, and Malfoy…  Like, seriously?  That’s your idea of a good time?  _Malfoy_?” 

 

“You know as well as I do that he’s different now!” Harry protested.  “I mean, he’s still the same, but he doesn’t act like a jerk anymore – not really – ”

 

“Whatever,” Ron shrugged.  “I still think he’s a prat.” 

 

“You play chess with him every evening.” 

 

“Exactly!” Ron declared triumphantly.   “I know him inside out, mate, and he’s…  He’s a better prat, but still a prat.  A massive one.” 

 

“Ron.  Just don’t say that to his face at the party, I don’t want another fight – ”

 

“That last one was because he was cheating!” Ron argued.  “And anyway, that just means you _have_ to go to the party and supervise – ”

 

“Ugghhhh.” 

 

                Ron grinned. 

 

“So…  That means you’re going?” 

 

“ _Yes_ ,” Harry snapped.  “Alright, I’ll go…” 

 

“Yes!  It’s alive!” Ron hollered to the stony ceiling of the underground passages.  “Harry Potter’s non-existent social life liiiiives!” 

 

“Shut up!”

 

                Harry threw a panicked glance behind them, catching some movement in the corner of his eye – and was relieved to find out that it was just the Bloody Baron on his way to the Astronomy Tower. 

 

“Ahh, now I know what parenthood is like,” Ron murmured with a grin.  “This must be what my dad feels like every time he convinces me to attend some dreary family gathering…  Cheer up, mate, at least I’m not making you meet my Great-Aunt Muriel.  _Frostbite!_ ” 

 

                On that optimistic note, the door to the common room slid open, and they rushed to the dormitories.  Harry shoved the Firebolt under his bed, and steeled himself before approaching the door, which Ron slammed shut after him when he heard Hermione coming and ran to meet her.  Behind it, Harry could hear the voices and the noise building up. 

 

                He pushed the door open, and was engulfed by the party. 

 

 

                The eighth-year common room was flooded with light and motion.  On this one night, all students in his year seemed to have forgotten completely about the looming problems of their pasts and their futures, instead choosing to go absolutely mental – together, in the Hogwarts dungeons. 

 

                The moment Harry stepped out, he was being carried around the room by a continuous flow of bodies.  Some were dancing in the space cleared out in the middle; others merely rushed past.  He was about to reconsider the whole idea and return to the dormitories, when something snagged his elbow. 

 

“Hey there, Potter.  You’re looking lost.” 

 

                Blaise Zabini flashed him a grin, and Harry sighed internally, plastering a smile on his face. 

 

“Relax, Potter,” Zabini told him. 

 

“What?”

 

“There’s no use pretending – rather unconvincingly, too.  Everyone with a brain already knows you’re not a party man.” 

 

“Well, I’m not a mistletoe man either, and _that’s_ all over the castle anyway,” Harry replied, a little more tersely than he’d intended. 

 

                Zabini quirked up his eyebrow, evidently amused. 

 

“Hm.  I wouldn’t know anything about that, now would I?” 

 

“Right,” Harry snorted, while Zabini batted his eyelashes at him in theatrical innocence.  “Hold on – you still haven’t changed your eyes back?” 

 

                It just struck him that Blaise’s eyes were gold – a rich, glistening gold, like an owl’s.  Everybody had been impressed with the colour when he walked out of Transfiguration, having convinced Professor Keating to let him keep the alteration.  However, it’s been days since that class –

 

“Why would I?” Blaise smiled disarmingly.  “They suit me, no?” 

 

“Er – I guess,” Harry ventured. 

 

“Why, thank you.” 

 

                Blaise lifted his glass in a mock toast to him.  Harry was growing increasingly uncomfortable.  So far, his interactions with Blaise had been minimal – they exchanged a few words sometimes, while he was hanging out with Draco, but no more than that.  At least, not counting that one weird evening when Luna dragged all her friends to the Forbidden Forest to see the Thestrals, and Blaise was the only one who couldn’t. 

 

                Harry recalled that Blaise fed them caramel apples anyway – if only because Luna really wanted him to, and Ginny was glaring at him pointedly the whole time.  He smiled at the memory.  Everyone somehow got along that day, running through the Forest together, making sure not to stray too far.  Ron was all too happy to remind anyone who’d listen about the Acromantula colony. 

 

And Harry had fun.  It turned out that Luna had taught Draco how to fly a Thestral over the summer, and they ended up soaring through the sky together, above the jagged edges of the Forest.  The sky was scorched with a mad sunset, crows answered the Thestral’s calls with a harsh cry, wind rushed past, and Draco was smiling –

 

“Potter.  Potter!” 

 

                Harry’s mind snapped back to the bustling noise of the common room. 

 

“What?” 

 

“You haven’t heard a word I said, have you?” Blaise asked. 

 

“Um, no?” Harry admitted guiltily.  “Sorry, I zoned out, I – ”

 

“It’s fine.  I don’t think you’d appreciate the true glory of that pick-up line anyway,” Blaise muttered dismissively. 

 

“ _What?_ ”

 

                Blaise burst out laughing. 

 

“Hey, I – ” Harry started defensively, but Blaise interrupted him with a raised hand. 

 

“You’re cute, Potter,” he told Harry, turning around and starting off towards the depths of the room.  “I can see why Draco likes you.” 

 

                Harry felt a stab of confusion, but Blaise already disappeared into the constantly shifting crowd and he zoned out once more. 

 

He was still staring at the spot where Blaise stood when Ernie Macmillan came up to him and started waxing poetic about this evening’s importance to house unity.  Snapping back to reality, he sighed in relief – it was easier to deal with the party when he could pretend that he was talking to one person, and at least he knew Ernie.  Sort of. 

 

                Ernie kept talking, while Harry made off-handed comments and nodded along.  The subject of the conversation zipped from one thing to another, Qudditch, classes, Christmas, mistletoe –

 

“…  And last I saw, Neville was still trying to saw him out – ”

 

“Who?” Harry asked, realizing his mind had started to drift again. 

 

“Malfoy,” Ernie said. 

 

“Which one?” 

 

“Er – the Unpleasant, Angry one.  He got stuck in a mistletoe, Neville’s been trying to get him out for the past ten minutes, I think.” 

 

“Ohh…  That can’t be nice,” Harry groaned, his heart going out to Neville in sympathy – even though Angry Draco stopped actively driving people nuts, an inconvenience like this was a sure-fire way to get him started again. 

 

“It’s not,” Ernie agreed.  “Malfoy’s been swearing fluently in like, three languages the whole time…  I _think_ it’s three, I know some of it sounded French.” 

 

“Draco knows French?..” 

 

                Harry knew he was pursuing the wrong topic there, but he couldn’t help feeling impressed. 

 

“Yeah, he does…  It didn’t sound very nice, though, he’s spitting mad,” Ernie told him. 

 

“I can imagine,” Harry muttered.

 

“At least there’s nobody trapped with him,” Ernie continued pensively.  “That’s a blessing, really, even though it’s weird – ”

 

“What do you mean?” 

 

                Ernie blinked. 

 

“Well, it’s odd that he’s alone in there,” he explained.  “Which is good, because he’s just yelling instead of trying to murder whomever he’s refusing to snog…  But point is, the mistletoe never goes after people who are alone, that’s kinda the point of it…” 

 

“No, no, it does,” Harry interjected.  “It keeps going after me – got me once or twice, too, and I was on my own then…” 

 

“Seriously?  That’s weird,” Ernie said, frowning in confusion.  “How’d you get out?” 

 

                Harry shrugged.  

 

“Ginny blasted me out the first time.  The second time, Hagrid was walking by, tore the cage apart.” 

 

“Huh.  Weird.” 

 

“You don’t say,” Harry grimaced. 

 

“I wonder why that would be happening,” Ernie muttered, scrunching his eyebrows.  “There shouldn’t be anything wrong with the charm, Zabini’s been Flitwick’s best student for years, and anyway it works on everyone else properly – ”

 

“Really?  What’s it even do?” 

 

“Basic emotional scan.  The charm’s supposed to recognize – hey, is there any chance you’re in love with somebody?..” 

 

“I’m _not,_ ” Harry told him.  The last thing he needed was the entirety of Hufflepuff house trying to find him a mistletoe soulmate.“So, Neville’s still sawing?” 

 

“Yeah…  Poor guy,” Ernie said sympathetically.  “Of all the Malfoys to get stuck there, it _had_ to be that one.” 

 

“True – oh, d’you know where the rest of him is?” 

 

                It suddenly occurred to Harry that he hadn’t seen them since morning.  For some reason, the idea seemed a little worrisome. 

 

“Eh – all in different places.  I think Luna is trying to get the Scared one more used to Ginny…”

 

“Right, he still hides under the table every time he sees her,” Harry nodded. 

 

“I think he’s got good reason to!” Ernie protested.  “I’ve seen her in action – Smith had green slimy vampire bats coming out of his nostrils!  Anyway, that would be him and the weird Cuddly one, they’re somewhere over there.” 

 

                He gave vague wave, which Harry followed with his eyes until the crowd blurred together again.  It couldn’t be just eighth-years here, there were simply too many –

 

“… Him and Hermione are trying some kind of therapy on the Sad one, I think,” Ernie said thoughtfully, about who Harry could guess was Nerd Draco.  “It was very interesting, actually…  I think they’re making him communicate with the people he, um, didn’t quite get along with.  Sort out the past, apologize and move on, that kind of thing.” 

 

“And – and the normal one?” 

 

“Probably somewhere over there,” Ernie said with another wave towards the dance floor.  “He owed both Pansy and Goyle a dance – though how he ended up with _that_ one, I just don’t know…” 

 

“Zabini’s going to have a field day with this,” Harry chuckled, suddenly picturing Goyle in a pink tutu. 

 

                Why that particular image popped into his head, he had no idea.  Harry rummaged around, trying to find something else to think of, but Goyle remained stubbornly at the forefront of his mind and performed several graceful leaps.  Failing to get rid of him, Harry was forced to admit that pink actually suited Goyle very well.  It was a nice colour choice, it complimented his complexion and dark hair...  

 

                The crowd swirled around them.  Ernie kept talking, and several more people came over to listen and offer their own comments.  Snake sparklers fizzed and crackled from the ceiling, and the room was getting stuffier – but the people kept moving frenetically on and off the dance floor, music – was it the Weird Sisters? – pounded in Harry’s ears.

 

Its beat seemed to make the back of his head vibrate, and the voices all streamed over him, like one big hum, and faces were everywhere, talking about that move Ravenclaw’s keeper made during the match against Slytherin, and he was standing there, being shunted slowly to the periphery of their group, his face worn from the smile, which everybody seemed to ignore anyway –

 

“Excuse me,” he muttered finally, and almost ran towards the dormitories, just as Goyle landed a spectacular triple spin in the back of his brain. 

 

 

                The door clicked behind him, and he leaned back on it, flooded with relief. 

 

“Harry?  Are you alright?” 

 

                A surprised voice came from one of the beds, and Harry gave a start, suddenly realizing that he wasn’t alone.  Draco was sitting on his bed, studying him with a concerned expression. 

 

“Are you alright?” Draco asked more insistently. 

 

“Um – yeah, I’m fine – ” Harry broke off at Draco’s skeptical face. 

 

                He sighed. 

 

“Not really,” he admitted, closing his eyes again. 

 

“It’s the people, isn’t it?”

 

                Harry nodded, crossing over to the bed. 

 

“I’m _drained_ ,” he confessed, plopping down next to Draco. 

 

“Would you – would you like to lie down?  I can leave, I was – ” Draco stumbled over his words awkwardly as he made a move to get up. 

 

“No, don’t,” Harry said quickly, catching his sleeve.  “Stay.  Please.” 

 

                Draco raised his eyebrows, but sat back down. 

 

“I thought – ”

 

“You’re not _people_ ,” Harry told him.  “You’re you.  It’s different.” 

 

                The corner of Draco’s mouth twitched up. 

 

“I still don’t understand why you even went,” he drawled.  “You knew you wouldn’t enjoy it, so – ”

 

“Ron,” Harry sighed.  “And people.” 

 

“Ah.” 

 

“Yeah,” he shrugged.  “They keep trying to get me to have fun, but then I just run off whenever it gets too overwhelming.” 

 

                Draco smirked. 

 

“That’s every time, then?”

 

“Oh, shut up,” Harry laughed, swatting at him.  “I feel stupid enough as it is, I used to really like parties.” 

 

“Could’ve fooled me.” 

 

“It’s fooled all of my friends, apparently,” Harry grimaced.  “Well, most of them, I think.” 

 

“Hm.” 

 

“They’re all worried about me because of it, too.  It’s kind of awkward, really,” he said pensively.  “It’s like…  I’m disappointing them, or something.  But it’s like I’ve run out of batteries – actually, you don’t know what batteries are, forget it.” 

 

They fell silent.  Draco stared at his feet, picking at his nails, and Harry’s mind raced through his own words until his stomach churned with embarrassment.  He kept talking, didn’t he?..  He complained like a child... 

 

                But then he felt Draco’s arm slide gently around him, and his breath caught in his throat.  Draco’s never done that himself – not this one –

 

“What are – ” he began. 

 

“Don’t,” Draco murmured – and Harry leaned into the touch, unable to stop himself.  “Just breathe, that’s all.” 

 

“But – ”

 

“Shh,” Draco said softly, and Harry sagged against him, exhaling slowly.

 

                He could smell lemons, and the lingering scent of something burning.  Draco shifted and pulled him closer, until they were lying down on the bed, side by side.  There was a soft, comforting warmth wrapped around them, and the dying fireplace cast a subtle orange glow on the room.  It was peaceful – Harry sighed, pressing his face against Draco’s rumpled shirt, and felt the last shreds of tension leave his body.  It was – it was like he belonged somehow, and he never wanted it to end –

 

                He sucked in a breath as Draco’s fingers brushed through his hair.  They stilled for a moment, but Harry didn’t pull away, and the hand returned, cautiously carding through his coarse strands – and he felt his mouth stretch into a smile.  He supposed he was rather like a dog in that way.  Some kind of big, rather awkward dog with shaggy hair, the kind that still melts and loses all rational thought when somebody pets it, even when it’s old… 

 

“Merlin, Potter.  Haven’t you ever _seen_ a hairbrush?”

 

                Draco’s voice came with its usual drawl, except it lacked all venom.  Harry laughed quietly in reply. 

 

“As a matter of fact, I have.  Yesterday.  Seamus and Dean were fighting over it, and Neville stole it.” 

 

                Draco made a shocked noise. 

 

“You Gryffindors,” he muttered.  “One hairbrush in the entire dormitory, I should’ve known…” 

 

“Especially considering the amount of time you spend here,” Harry chuckled peaceably.  “Hold on – what _are_ you doing here?  Now, I mean?..” 

 

                Draco kept playing with Harry’s hair as he considered the question. 

 

“Well…  I am currently in hiding,” he informed Harry. 

 

“What?  Why?” 

 

“Pansy,” Draco sighed.  “She’s my friend, of course, but the woman can’t dance.  At all.  It’s embarrassing, and rather painful.” 

 

“Ouch,” Harry grinned.  “Horrific.  You should’ve left the country, nowhere is safe…” 

 

“Shut up.  I happen to value my toes very much,” Draco told him. 

 

“Hm.  What about Goyle, then?  Ernie said you owed him a dance, too…”  

 

“Oh, that was actually fine,” Draco said.  “Goyle’s good at dancing.” 

 

“ _Goyle_ can _dance_?” Harry asked incredulously. 

 

                Draco pulled away for a second to give him a scornful look. 

 

“Yes, he can dance.  It’s not that strange.” 

 

“Oh.  Okay.” 

 

“He actually wanted to do ballet as a child,” Draco continued thoughtfully.  “But his parents wouldn’t let him.  It’s a pity, really – I think he’d be good.” 

 

“Huh,” was all Harry could say to that. 

 

                Goyle made a triumphant reappearance in the back of his head, his pink tutu sparkling in the glaring lights of a stage.  Harry thought he looked smug.  It was odd, naturally – but if Harry heard now of Flitwick’s brilliant career in rugby, he would believe it.  It was that kind of evening. 

 

                Draco was so close Harry could see the little mole on the side of his chin.  His grey eyes were glinting in the dim light of the room, and Harry thought that they were rather like a stormy sky.  So alive…  But there was no fire in them now.  Draco’s face was relaxed and soft, and Harry’s hand reached up almost instinctively to brush against his cheek.  Draco’s eyes fluttered shut at the touch.  He gave a small satisfied sigh – and immediately, Harry wanted to do it again, if only to make him smile like that once more. 

 

                Harry was stroking Draco’s face, feeling warm at his happy, carefree smile – and then the door burst open, and closed again just as the noise of the party flooded in from behind it. 

 

“Shit, shit, Merlin – I’d _swear_ it was there somewhere – hey Harry,” Ron muttered absentmindedly, yanking open the top drawer of his dresser and rifling hastily through the contents. 

 

“Hey,” Harry mumbled. 

 

“Ugh, where is it – wait.  Um.  Malfoy?”  Ron asked disbelievingly, pausing in his search. 

 

“Weasel,” Draco drawled, earning himself a poke in the ribs from Harry.  “Fine!  _Weasley_.  Happy now?” 

 

“Not exactly!  Harry, what’s going on?” 

 

                Ron abandoned the dresser and rounded completely on them, staring down with wide eyes.  He seemed to be trying to convince himself that the image wasn’t real.  Harry frowned. 

 

“Uh – what do you mean?”

 

“ _Malfoy_ ,” Ron told him.  “He’s in your bed!” 

 

“Um.  Yeah?” Harry tried in confusion.  “Why, what’s wrong?” 

 

“What’s – Merlin’s pants, Harry!  It’s Malfoy!  He’s in your bed!”

 

                Harry frowned again. 

 

“So?..  He spends every night in it anyway… _Ow,_ ” he raised his voice, glaring at Draco. 

 

“Don’t talk about me like I’m not here,” Draco told him.  “It’s rude.” 

 

“And naturally, you’re the expert,” Harry parried, grinning again and reaching over to brush Draco’s pale hair from his face. 

 

                Ron stared at them, his mouth moving silently.  He looked like a gangling red-headed fish. 

 

“Malfoy…  Spends every night here,” he repeated weakly. 

 

“Yeah…  Hold on,” Harry stopped, his mind suddenly drawing up an unexpected conclusion.  “ _You_ don’t!” 

 

“Uhh…  Yeah, I don’t,” Ron admitted, looking shifty. 

 

“You haven’t been here since the start of term!” Harry pressed on, rolling over and sitting up to face him.  “But you’re always brushing your teeth here in the morning, I’d assumed you just went to sleep after me, or…  Or something…” 

 

“Or something,” Ron accepted.  “More to the point, why didn’t Dean or Seamus or Neville tell me about this?!  Seamus never shuts up about gossip, he’s – ”

 

“Never mind that,” Harry said, perplexed.  “I must’ve told you, you just zone out every time I start talking about Draco – where were _you_ every night of the term?” 

 

                Ron’s ears flared up as he grinned. 

 

“You know what, mate – you don’t ask, and I won’t.  Pretty sure I don’t want all the sordid details anyway.” 

 

“Ask about _what_?” 

 

“Aha – found it!” Ron cheered, snatching something from the drawer.  “Knew I had one left…  And really, Harry, I still think this is kinda weird, but – you’re my best friend and all.  So, whatever makes you happy.” 

 

“What?  I mean, that’s great, but what were you – ”

 

“Look, I said I don’t mind,” Ron interrupted.  “I need to go, anyway – I promised ‘Mione I won’t be long…  See ya, mate.” 

 

“See ya…  I guess,” Harry called after him, and turned back onto his side.  “Uh…  What is it?” 

 

                Draco was looking at him with an odd, slightly stilted expression. 

 

“They’re _doing_ it,” he told Harry. 

 

“Um.  Who?” 

 

“Weasel – _Weasley_ and Granger,” Draco groaned.  “Salazar’s fucking balls, I won’t get this image out of my head until next year…” 

 

“Wait, what – ” Harry began, and stopped, realization hitting him like a brick.  “Oh.” 

 

“Yes,” Draco confirmed. 

 

“Well…  They _are_ together,” Harry stumbled.  “It’s normal, I guess it shouldn’t be unexpected – ”

 

“I know,” Draco sighed.  “But _still_ , Weasel sex…  Blehh, the idea itself is enough to make me vomit.”

 

“Hey!  They’re my friends, you know.” 

 

“Whatever,” Draco waved his hand dismissively and continued.  “Apologies and whatnot.  Where they’re doing it, though, that’s what I’d like to find out.  Boys can’t get into the girls’ dormitories, they must’ve found some other place – ”

 

“The Room of Requirement?” Harry suggested. 

 

                Draco blinked. 

 

“You mean – you mean the Come and Go Room?..” 

 

“Yeah,” Harry nodded, and grinned.  “Now that you think of it, your name probably fits better – ”

 

“But…  But it burned, didn’t it?” Draco said hesitantly.  “I thought the Room died in that fire – ”

 

“Who knows,” Harry shrugged.  “Hogwarts has healing magic, remember?..  During the summer, there were hallways nobody quite got to rebuilding, but I’ve seen them now – they’re fine...” 

 

“But it wasn’t just a bunch of stray curses,” Draco argued.  “It was _Fiendfyre_ – it eats up magic, it rips out _souls_ like a Dementor – ”

 

“Look, I don’t know, okay?” Harry said irritably.  “Except – maybe the fire’s died down.  Or maybe somebody wished for it to go out.” 

 

                Draco was silent for a moment, his grey eyes searching Harry’s face. 

 

“You really think so?” he asked finally.  “You think the Room could’ve… Healed?  Moved on?” 

 

“I don’t know,” Harry sighed.  He looked at Draco and smiled. “It…  It would be nice, though, wouldn’t it?” 

 

“Yes,” Draco admitted.  “It would.” 

 

                He curled in close, tucking his face into Harry’s hair.  Harry could feel his warm breaths flutter against the top of his head, and squeezed him tighter.  Outside, the voices in the Common Room had all melted into one constant murmur, and there was something infinitely comforting about it. 

 

Perhaps, Harry thought, it was the simple knowledge that there were people there, forgetting their pasts, laughing and living – because it meant that maybe they could do the same.  For once in his life, Harry was sure that he was going to survive the next year – and the next.  And maybe the one after that, as well.  That had to count for something, didn’t it?..  And then there was Draco, holding him close…  Harry wanted that to go on forever – and maybe now it could.  Even when the potion wore off. 

 

Harry wished he could keep it.  Keep Draco.  As stupid as it sounded.  Unless it turned out that he couldn’t persuade a storm to stay, not by any magic in the world –

 

“Draco?” he asked quietly. 

 

“Mhh?”

 

“Do you wanna go to Hogsmeade with me?”

 

                Draco’s hand stopped.

 

“What?”

 

“DoyouwannagotoHogsmeadewithme?” Harry repeated, the words tumbling out in one big burst.  “I mean, this weekend – the trip is this weekend.”

 

“Yes, I know,” Draco said.  “And you – you’re asking me?” 

 

“Yes?” Harry tried, feeling himself getting more awkward by the minute.  “Everyone’s going, right, and I’d usually go with Ron and Hermione, or Ginny, or Dean – but they’re all going to be paired off, and…  No, that’s not what I meant!  I – I just – ”

 

“Harry.  Shush.  Relax,” Draco told him.  “Get the words sorted first.  Then talk.” 

 

“Uh.  Okay.  Um,” Harry said, taking a deep breath.  “I’d like to go to Hogsmeade with you this weekend.  That – that is, if you want to.”

 

“Which one of me?” 

 

“What?” Harry asked in confusion. 

 

“Which of me do you want to go with?  Because there’s six, if you hadn’t noticed – ”

 

“You!  I want to go with you.  You’re all of you, right?  The rest, they’re more like puzzle pieces – ”

 

“Metaphors?..  Impressive.  What’s next?  Coherent sentences?” 

 

“Oh, quit it,” Harry sighed with frustration.  Draco was clearly avoiding the answer for some reason.  “Look, just – would you like to go?” 

 

                Draco remained silent.  The fire crackled in merry reply to the constant whisper of the Dark Lake behind the dungeon walls. 

 

“Yes,” he said finally.  “I _would_ like that – I just thought…  We haven’t really spent that much time one-on-one, did we?  There’s always another one of me, and a whole day – ”

 

“I won’t get bored,” Harry promised hastily.  “You know me, I can literally fall asleep on somebody and stay entertained – and in an emergency, you can always argue me back to life – ”

 

“Ah.  Thank you for that reassurance,” Draco scoffed.  “Was that how you got resurrected last summer?” 

 

“Exactly that,” Harry deadpanned.  “Ugh, just the thought that you’d never hear that magnificent comeback I came up with during the cold, sleepless nights on the run…” 

 

“Hm.  Out of curiosity – did you use it yet?” 

 

“Are you crazy?  Of course not!” 

 

                Draco was beginning to smile. 

 

“Dare I ask why?”

 

“I don’t know when I’m going to die again,” Harry informed him seriously.  “I might need it, to come back.” 

 

“Or you’ve realized it’s actually shit,” Draco smirked.  “By the way, that pun was horrible.” 

 

“How dare you.  And it’s the most spectacular comeback of all time.” 

 

                Draco laughed and rolled over on his back, letting his arm flop down next to him. 

 

“Whatever you say, Harry.  Whatever you say.” 

 

                Harry felt his face split in a giant smile. 

 

“So you’ll come with me?” he asked, propping himself up on his elbow.  “To Hogsmeade?”

 

                Draco looked up at him, his face oddly nervous as he fought between a customary sneer and the warmest smile Harry’s ever seen on him. 

 

“Well, yes.  I suppose.  Not like you left me much choice, though – ”

 

“Shut up,” Harry said, grinning.  “I’m happy that you’re going.” 

 

“Hm.” 

 

                Draco looked like he was about to say something else, but then he just shook his head, as if chasing the thought away.  His eyes met Harry’s, shining and uncertain, and Harry smiled back at him.  Draco was going to stay, and that was enough. 

 

 

***

 

                Draco pulled at a tuft of his hair impatiently as he stared at the doors.  Any minute now – Harry couldn’t have forgotten, could he?  Draco would sooner break his own broom than admit it, but he’d looked forward so much to this weekend, he felt like he would burst if he didn’t see Harry walk into the crowded hall and smile at him…  Would he smile?  It was Harry, of course he would.  That big happy smile that lit up his entire face and made Draco’s chest squeeze –

 

                Draco gave himself a mental kick.  He didn’t want their friendship added to the pile of everything he’d already fucked up in his life.  This kind of thinking had to stop.  Or he could at least pretend it did. 

 

                He leaned against the rough stone wall.  He could do that, just shut down all those unnecessary feelings… 

 

                The heavy dark doors swung open again, admitting yet another gaggle of students.  With a jolt, Draco recognized the untameable shock of dark hair – and then Harry’s eyes met his, and he was smiling back at him, unable to resist like always.  Draco’s stomach did a funny flip, flooding his mind with a horrifying realization.  He would never be able to hide from Harry, even if he tried, and Harry could always see straight through him anyway, he was doomed –

 

“Hey, Draco,” Harry said, stopping in front of him and beaming like the loveable idiot that he was. 

 

“Harry,” Draco acknowledged, and he smiled even wider – he always did when Draco used his first name.  Draco felt something constricting inside him –

 

“I’m glad you’re here,” Harry told him, and suddenly that was the only thing in the world that mattered.  “I – I wasn’t sure you’d show.” 

 

“I almost didn’t,” Draco admitted.

 

“Let me guess.  Was a lonely Goyle your last excuse for chickening out?” Harry smirked. 

 

“Shut up.  And yes.”   

 

“Who’s he going with?” Harry asked curiously.

 

“Susan Bones, I think,” he sighed. 

 

                This morning, Goyle had mumbled something indistinct about Susan and hot chocolate, with a red face that suggested Madam Puddifoot’s inane little café.  Draco should’ve known, really, when the lumbering fool was practically adopted by her whole house…  And now he was going to smooch with Susan Bones beneath the sparkly Cupids, and then they’d go off and get married, and spawn a whole new generation of annoying cuddly Hufflepuffs. 

 

“Or Slytherins,” Harry offered.  “A bunch of annoying, sneaky little Goyles.” 

 

                Draco snorted as they waded together through the crowd. 

 

“That’s it, I’m _never_ going to visit those two.  Not ever.” 

 

                Harry gave him a confused look. 

 

“Why’s that?” 

 

“Given this combination, their house would be impossible to live in.”

 

“Yeah, it would be, wouldn’t it?”  Harry chuckled.  “And then they’d all get to Hogwarts, and…  Poor McGonagall.”                 

 

                Poor McGonagall, indeed.  She’d have enough on her plate by that time, whatever rosy couple decided to send their offspring in – Draco could only imagine the chaos a new wave of Weasleys would bring to the castle.  And if somehow joined by a steady alliance with the Slytherins, they would rule the halls, wreaking havoc –

 

“Seriously?  They haven’t even gotten married yet, and you’re already planning world domination,” Harry prodded, stumbling as five tiny first-years ran past with a fluorescent product of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. 

 

“It’s not _world_ domination,” Draco said defensively.  “Everything’s within the confines of the castle, to end when school ends.” 

 

                Harry opened his mouth to say something, but then oddly deflated, watching the crowd incessantly shifting everywhere around them. 

 

“Does it all really end, though?  I mean, completely?  Everything?”  he asked with hesitation. 

 

The crowd shifted around them.  Draco had a nagging suspicion that he was talking about something more than future Goyles. 

 

“I don’t know,” he shrugged.  “Depends on the people, I suppose...” 

 

“I guess,” Harry sighed, but his shoulders remained slumped, and that was absolutely unacceptable. 

 

“So actually – as loath as I am to admit it – I think you’re right,” Draco drawled, his eyes glinting. 

 

                Harry perked up, his curiosity getting the better of him as always. 

 

“What?” 

 

“The new ickle Weasleys will definitely maintain their alliance with the Goyles.  Greg’s hardworking, cunning progeny will make sure that the Weasels push their way up the ranks of the wizarding world…”

 

                Harry still looked unconvinced.  

 

“Uuhuh.”

 

“Before we know it, one will become Minister,” Draco assured him. 

 

“A Weasley as a Minister of Magic…” Harry hummed thoughtfully and grinned.  “Man, I can’t wait for that.  Whatever will your father say?..”   

 

“My father will drink the Malfoy wine cellar dry when that happens,” Draco informed him.  “And I will be furious with Goyle for destroying that crucial part of my inheritance.” 

 

“Ugh.  You alcoholic,” Harry snorted – truly smiling this time – and Draco felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. 

 

                They pushed open the heavy doors and stepped outside, into the December wind.  Sunlight gleamed on the freshly fallen snow. 

 

 

                The main street of Hogsmeade had been bustling with students and ordinary shoppers, and while Harry could deal with being a little overwhelmed, he’d made certain to steer Draco well past The Three Broomsticks.  There was no way of knowing if Madam Rosmerta really deemed the formal apology acceptable, and he was adamant that nothing should ruin their – was it a date?..  It felt like one, if only a little.  Harry felt heat work its way up to his cheeks, and was glad for the snow, which was swirling past them again. 

 

“I love winter,” he sighed as they strolled down the quiet backstreets of the little village. 

 

                Draco laughed quietly beside him.  He’d finally relaxed towards the end of the quiet, snowed-in day, and a soft smile rested on his face. 

 

“You would.” 

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Harry grinned, lifting his face to meet the wind.  Today was such a good idea – he felt lighter than ever, and almost giddy for some reason. 

 

“Well, you’re the crazy hero, aren’t you?  Of course you’d like something that all normal people try to avoid,” Draco explained. 

 

“Plenty of people like snow,” Harry argued. 

 

“ _Please_ ,” Draco scoffed with a theatrical shiver, rubbing his hands together.  “Next, you’ll tell me that everyone likes freaky forests full of monsters...”

 

“Hagrid – ” 

 

“… In which they died once,” Draco added to drive the point further and smirked.  “Face it, Harry, everything you love is quite horrible.” 

 

                Harry smacked Draco’s shoulder, but supposed the reproach wasn’t very effective – he couldn’t keep the smile off his face. 

 

“I like normal things, too.  Like dogs,” he offered.   

 

“Ew.  They make me sneeze,” Draco grimaced, as they turned the corner and headed back to the castle, which was barely visible behind the lace-like curtain of falling snowflakes.  Harry gave him a scowl. 

 

“Treacle tart.” 

 

“You mean that nauseatingly sweet thing the Hogwarts elves insist on serving at every meal?”

 

“ _Nauseatingly_ sweet?” 

 

“To each their own, but, well.  At least now I know who’s to blame for that atrocity.”

 

“What about _you_ , then?” Harry blurted.  “I like you.” 

 

                Draco’s shoulder twitched.   

 

“Flattering.  But you see, I’m quite horrible too, so if anything, that just proves my theory,” he said, kicking a snowbank. 

 

                Harry nudged his side. 

 

“Good thing I’ve got a type, then, isn’t it?” he said lightly, and grinned when he saw a little smile tug at Draco’s mouth. 

 

“I suppose,” muttered Draco almost reluctantly, and then suddenly sidled up closer to Harry, wrapping his arms around his middle.  “Fuck, it’s _cold_ …” 

 

                Harry stumbled and almost fell over. 

 

“Er – Draco?..  What’re you doing?”

 

“Trying to get warm,” Draco told him, his voice muffled by Harry’s coat. 

 

“But – ”

 

“Shut up, Harry.  I _said_ I’m horrible, you signed up for this yourself.” 

 

“And how am I supposed to _walk_?” Harry demanded, slipping in the snow and almost going down again. 

 

“I don’t know,” Draco grunted.  “You’re the Golden Boy, you’ll figure it out.” 

 

“A-ah!..  Okay.  Alright.  Um.” 

 

                Harry desperately tried to regain his balance on his own.  But the fluffy snow slid beneath his feet, and his shoes kept getting caught on the cobblestones – so eventually he just put his arms around Draco, who gave a small sigh of contentment, and pressed closer to him.  Harry leaned onto his frame, and made several cautious steps toward the forest, which stood silent and serene around Hogsmeade. 

 

“See, you figured it out,” Draco mumbled into his shoulder.   

 

“I did, didn’t I?” Harry grinned.  “Even with you hanging off me like a leech…  Seriously, could you stand up a little?..  I feel like I’m carrying all the weight here!”

 

“You are.  So if we fall and I get snow in my face, I’m blaming you entirely,” Draco said with a nuzzle.   

 

“You little shit,” Harry said tenderly, and hugged him tighter. 

 

They walked back to Hogwarts together, swaying lightly, and he felt like his entire was being flooded with warmth.  

 

 

The day had flown by – and Harry didn’t even notice it go, but now the streetlights shone with a flickering orange all around them.  He glanced at Draco, who was now walking slightly ahead – the git finally peeled himself off Harry’s shoulder as they climbed uphill, and stole his red Gryffindor scarf in the process.  The bright wool was wrapped triumphantly around his neck, and Harry was suddenly seized with the desire to leap into the air, through the snow, and twirl there with the gusts of piercing wind –

 

“Training for the ballet, Potter?” 

 

                Draco’s gleeful voice broke through the snow, and Harry looked up, grinning. 

 

“Yeah,” he called.  “I’m starting a dancing troop with Goyle.” 

 

“What, with your management skills?” Draco scoffed.  “Then again, you might be onto something here…  Just imagine all the people who’d show up to see the Saviour’s arse in a leotard – ”

 

                He broke off, sputtering as a handful of snow hit him in the face. 

 

“Agh – how dare you – cold, cold, _cold_ …”

 

“Serves you right for being such an insufferable git,” Harry told him, scooping more snow from the ground. 

 

“You do bring out the best in me, Harry,” Draco sighed.   

 

“Seriously?..  Man, if that’s your _best_ – ow!”

 

                A scratchy snowball hit Harry square in the chest and broke apart, trickling down in painfully cold streams of snow. 

 

“Ouch, ooh – great, it’s down my shirt now, thanks a bunch – ”

 

“Serves you right for leaving your coat unbuttoned,” Draco smirked.  “Seriously, how can you _do_ that?.. It’s December!” 

 

“You’re going down, Malfoy,” Harry promised, and launched himself at Draco, armed to the teeth with snow. 

 

                Draco retaliated with the same frenzy that drove them both charging through the air during a Quidditch match.  It was not the game – it was never the Snitch – it was the familiar understanding that each made the other more alive than anybody else ever could.  It was the same as ever – except now, Harry realized with a fuzzy feeling, they were in it together.

 

                His glasses were caked with water and lumpy snow, and he could barely see Draco’s face in the blue evening light – Hogsmeade was already far behind.  They raced past the Forbidden Forest, and toward the looming castle, bombarding each other with snow. 

 

“Merlin, look!”  

 

                Two snowballs collided in the air and burst, like icy fireworks above their heads.  Draco slid to a halt as the broken bits of snow plummeted down, and Harry paused as well, pulling at his shirt to wipe the lenses. 

 

“Fuck, that was beautiful,” Draco breathed. 

 

“Yeah,” he agreed – mostly to avoid admitting that he couldn’t see shit. 

 

“Like spells in a duel – Potter, don’t you dare!” Draco shrieked, but Harry already tackled him, and they both flopped onto the ground, rolling off the path completely. 

 

“Ouch – ” Harry complained, and immediately had to shut up as Draco dumped a handful of snow on his face. 

 

“You deserve it!” 

 

“Argh – hey!”

 

“You pushed me first!” Draco argued, attempting to shove more snow down Harry’s shirt. 

 

“Oh no, you don’t!” Harry yelled, finally managing to find a foothold and flip them over, pinning Draco’s flailing arms to the ground. 

 

                Harry panted, trying to catch his breath.  A wide smile on his face mirrored Draco’s and made his cheeks hurt as he lay in the snow.  By now, they were not far from the Hogwarts walls, and the sharp golden light of the windows lay bright on the surrounding hills and glinted, reflected in Draco’s grey eyes.  For a moment, Harry’s gaze slipped to his mouth – he could feel his breaths as they froze in the winter air, and fogged his glasses before dissipating. 

 

Draco’s breathing was slowing, but he still remained there, looking up at Harry with an uncertainty that seemed strangely sad, despite the small smile on his face.  He was warm beneath Harry – his cheeks flushed from running and from the wind, and Harry’s heart skipped a beat when their eyes met.  There was snow on Draco’s cheek, and he brushed it away. 

 

His hand rested there, cupping Draco’s face.  They were so close – and he never wanted to let go, feeling something warm pool inside his stomach, and a lurch of longing that was almost painful. 

 

                 He leaned forward, closing the short distance, and his lips brushed against Draco’s.  They were soft and cold, and moved hesitantly under his own, almost as if they were afraid of it.  Harry gave them another small kiss, and pulled back, smiling and a bit light-headed – and then it faded. 

 

His face fell. 

 

                Draco was staring up in mute shock.  His eyes flicked away for a second, as he brought his hand up to his mouth – and then he looked back, confusion and disbelief plain in his face –

 

“I’m sorry,” Harry breathed.  “Shit, I’m sorry – I – ”

 

“You…  You kissed me.” 

 

                Harry opened his mouth to say something – but the cold air suddenly clenched around him, the darkness was squeezing his chest, and words ran through the wind like spiders, overflowing his mind, they were like the Acromantula nest deep in the forest, he –

 

“I – I can’t,” he mumbled, scrambling to his feet.  He could barely feel them, he could barely feel himself, and something was pressing down in his throat –

 

                Draco sat up after him. 

 

“Harry – ”

 

                But he already turned and ran to the castle. 

 

***

 

“Harry!” 

 

                Wheezing and with a stabbing pain in his side, Draco ran up the stairs two steps at a time.  Harry couldn’t just disappear, not after what happened – not when Draco didn’t even kiss him back.  He had to find him – but Merlin, how fast did he move?.. 

 

Draco pulled open the heavy door.  He was faced with an empty space, dimply lit by an occasional torch.  Further on, the Great Hall bustled with voices and light, but he knew Harry wouldn’t be there.  

 

“Where are you, then, you idiot?..” he muttered, hurrying across to a corridor entrance. 

 

                He glanced into the yawning archway.  There was nobody there, either – the hall stretched forward, hostile and cold.  Then something brushed against his arm and he whirled around, his wand out –

 

“Draco, it’s me!  Calm down.  It’s just me.” 

 

                Draco scowled at his own face. 

 

“Amazing.  You again.  Just when I needed it – ”

 

“I know,” his doppelganger said quietly.  “I – I felt it, I think we all did…” 

 

“Oh, perfect.  And now he tells me that my first kiss was a fucking orgy,” Draco scoffed, sliding his wand back into his sleeve. 

 

“That’s not what I meant!  It – it was the emotion, not the kiss itself…  Do you think he knows it was your first?” he asked worriedly. 

 

“Shut up.  Don’t make it worse.” 

 

“Sorry.  I – I didn’t mean to.” 

 

                Draco cast him a glare, but it lacked the effect.  He was exhausted – so he just leaned against the stone wall, sighing.  It was over, really.  Harry had that bloody Invisibility Cloak, anyway – and in seven years, he’d learned one thing.  He’d never be able to find him.     

 

“He’s in the Owlery!” gasped a second double, bursting in. 

 

                Draco jerked up, staring at him. 

 

“What?” 

 

“I tracked him.  Could barely keep up and out of sight, too, so I expect many thanks and worship,” he said, glaring back.  “Well?  What are you still doing here?” 

 

“I – what?” 

 

“Go after him!  You seemed bent on it just a moment ago – I could feel it – ”

 

“Stop it,” came a quiet voice, and two other twins walked in.  “He’s scared.  He thinks he’ll mess it up.” 

 

                Draco’s nails were digging into the palms of his hands. 

 

“Would all of you stop fucking telling me how I feel?!  And I _know_ I’ll mess it up, that’s what I do!” 

 

“You don’t – not everything – ”

 

“Yes, _everything_.  It would be better if you went,” Draco said, looking up at the doppelganger standing in front of him.  “You’re _nice_.” 

 

“So are you, when you want to be.” 

 

“I’m not, and…  You don’t understand!” Draco snapped.  “ _You_ should go.  He – he likes you.” 

 

“He didn’t ask me to Hogsmeade.” 

 

                Draco opened his mouth to say something, but couldn’t.  The rest of him were staring back silently, blinking almost at the same time. 

 

“Go on,” urged one of them.  “I mean, logically, it has to be you – ”

 

“Shut up, nerd,” Draco said, turning around. 

 

                He stalked off, quickening his pace to hurry through the empty corridors of Hogwarts.  His mind was running in circles.  Why was everything in his life always a mess?  Even his first kiss – Harry…  Harry just ran off, and Draco had no idea what to do about it.  What would he even say once he found him? 

 

                _This was supposed to be an easy year,_ he thought, running up to the Owlery.  Most students had forgiven him for his part in the war, he could finally concentrate on his studies, and he was _finally_ friends with that weird kid he met in a robe shop when he was eleven…  Then again, that kid was Harry Potter.  Nothing was ever simple with Harry-fucking-Potter. 

 

 

                Draco pushed open the door.  The cavernous room opened before him, looking eerie and outlandish at night.  The only movement was that of owls, fluttering and gliding through the glassless windows.  Their necks moved at unnatural angles as they regarded him with a superior air of ghostly omniscience, and their eyes glinted in the dim light. 

 

                He walked down the lane of cages, feeling the owls watching him.  It was a little disconcerting – as if they all knew something he didn’t.  The light from outside cast pale streaks on the floor, and he wished there was more of it.  

 

He circled the cage and his entire train of thought froze.  In the corner, Harry sat on the floor – all curled up on himself, and his back pressed to the wall.  His hair stuck out every which way, lumps of snow still tangled between the strands.  His gloves were gone.  His hands gripped his knees, as if he was trying not to shiver, and Draco’s heart quivered at the sight. 

 

“Harry,” he called softly. 

 

                Harry’s head jerked up, a ball of snow coming loose and skittering across the stone floor. 

 

“Draco?..”  

 

                His voice was hoarse and strained, and Draco could only nod as he walked over to him. 

 

“W-what are you doing here?” 

 

“I was looking for you,” Draco said, and shivered at the wind from the lake.  “How can you sit here? It’s freezing!” 

 

“Oh.”  Harry frowned.  An owl screeched loudly before gliding out of the window.  “I hadn’t noticed.” 

 

“How could you not – oh, never mind.” 

 

                He broke off, suddenly noticing that Harry’s eyes were too bright behind the snow-smeared glasses – and his jaw was clenched a little too tightly –

 

“Harry, what’s wrong?” he asked, crouching down next to him.  “Are you alright?” 

 

“No,” Harry confirmed moodily.

 

                There was a pause.  Then he inhaled deeply. 

 

“I’m sorry.  Draco, I’m so, so sorry – I didn’t…  I didn’t think I’d ruin everything.  And I know that you probably hate me now, but I – ”

 

“Harry!” Draco stopped him.  “What are you talking about?..” 

 

“You know what I’m talking about!” Harry burst out. 

 

                An owl gave a distant hoot from the rafters in response. 

 

“I…  I _kissed_ you,” he whispered, pressing his knees closer to his chin. 

 

“I know,” Draco said quietly. 

 

“Well, there you go,” Harry muttered. 

 

“You didn’t – it didn’t ruin – why _did_ you kiss me?..”

 

                The Owlery whispered everywhere around them.  Harry laughed bitterly – a sound that ambled, broken and tired, among the constant fluttering of birds. 

 

“I don’t know,” he told the floor.  “I – I don’t know what I was thinking – I guess I wasn’t.  I’m sorry.” 

 

“Harry – ”

 

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, his voice catching in his throat.  “I shouldn’t have done that.  Not when we were finally friends – fuck, we were _friends_ …” 

 

                Harry dropped his head into his hands.  His fingers dug into his hair, and Draco couldn’t hold himself back anymore.  He reached out and took Harry’s hand gently into his own. 

 

“Harry.  It’s fine,” he said softly.  “I don’t hate you – I’m not even angry, look.” 

 

                Harry looked up, frowning in confusion. 

 

“You’re not?”

 

“I’m not.  Just – tell me one thing.  Please,” Draco added hesitantly.  “Did you…  Did you mean it?..” 

 

                Harry’s eyes flickered away.  Draco could feel his hand stiffen, but it remained where it was, cold from the wind and tense – so he ran his thumb over it, trying to comfort.

 

Harry swallowed. 

 

“Yes,” he mumbled, almost inaudibly.  “I meant it.  I meant all of it – mmf!” 

 

                Draco pressed his lips to Harry’s with an almost feverish movement.  Dimly, he heard him gasp, and caught his lower lip with his own as it moved with the sound.  Harry’s lips were chapped, he noticed absentmindedly – but then all his thoughts were gone, because Harry was kissing him back, and it felt like his limbs were melting. 

 

                Harry’s skin radiated heat, and his breath seemed scalding against Draco’s mouth in the piercing cold of the Owlery.  His hand was trembling a little, but he hadn’t let go of Draco’s – instead clinging to it like he would die without it. 

 

                 Draco squeezed it back.  His heart was racing.  The Universe giggled and exploded into confetti somewhere in the back of his head, but he didn’t care.  He couldn’t even think, not when Harry’s full, soft lips were moving both tentatively and firmly against his.  His other hand went up, cupping Harry’s face.  He didn’t even know that the knot in his chest was there – but now it untangled, just as Harry turned his head slightly to lean into the touch and then kissed him again. 

 

                Draco gave a whimper, and peppered little lingering kisses on the side of Harry’s mouth.  Harry was almost completely limp, gasping and responding to every touch, and somehow that was the only thing Draco cared about.  Then an owl screeched in the distance, and suddenly he noticed the wind picking up – and Harry didn’t even have gloves –

 

                He pulled back.  His breath was coming in short bursts, and his eyes were strangely blurry as he stared at Harry mutely, their fingers still laced together. 

 

“Draco,” Harry whispered, his voice almost lost in the dark.  “You…  You…”

 

“Before you ask, I meant it too,” Draco said.  “Completely.” 

 

“Oh.”

 

                Harry’s lips moved, but no words came out.  He just kept looking at Draco, his eyes intense behind the lenses, which were a mess of patches of grease and drying water.  He raised his hand slowly and touched his lips – and then reached out and brushed his fingers against Draco’s cheek. 

 

                A short, almost disbelieving laugh burst from his mouth.  He shifted on the floor, coming to his knees and leaning forward.  He cupped Draco’s face with both hands, and drew him closer, his smile wavering for a few moments before truly exploding over his features.  His eyes searched Draco’s, as if expecting him to stop him, to push him away and deny that anything had ever happened – but Draco leaned into his touch, and smiled back, and Harry laughed again, breathy and choked-up. 

 

“You…” he started again, and stopped.  “I – this…” 

 

“This is brilliant,” Draco said, turning his face to kiss the palm of Harry’s warm hand.  “ _You_ are brilliant.  And I want this.  I – I have for a while now.” 

 

“You have?..  I thought – that you – ”

 

                Draco sighed exasperatedly.

 

“How many times must I tell you that I don’t hate you?” he muttered, his hand going up to cover Harry’s. “I don’t, I really don’t, sometimes I don’t understand how I ever could – ”

 

“It’s not that!” Harry said quickly.  “I know that you don’t hate me – I just didn’t think you’d ever like me enough to…  You know.” 

 

                He broke off, chewing his lip nervously.  Draco smiled at him – he was too happy to stop himself from that, even though he’d tried to simply smirk. 

 

“You’re the Chosen One, Harry.  Everyone likes you.” 

 

“Look, just because I’m the bloody Chosen One doesn’t mean I’m not allowed insecurity issues!” Harry argued half-heartedly.  “And anyway, you’re…  You’re not everyone.  You never were.” 

 

                He looked away in embarrassment.  Draco felt his cheeks heat up – and something warm squeezing his throat.  He leaned forward and kissed Harry’s forehead gently. 

 

“I might as well be.  Because I still like you,” he mumbled into Harry’s hair.  “Maybe even a little more than I’d thought.” 

 

                He tilted his head down, resting his forehead against Harry’s.  They were so close – he could see Harry smiling, and he wished that this moment would never end, and that he could look at this warm, happy smile forever –

 

“We should get up,” he said. 

 

“What?” Harry frowned in confusion. 

 

“We can’t stay here, can we?  Look at yourself, you’ll freeze – ”

 

“Would it help if I told you that I really don’t feel the cold?..” Harry sighed, and chuckled at Draco’s irritation.  “But you’re right.  We should go.” 

 

                They scrambled to their feet awkwardly, both unable and unwilling to let go of each other.  Harry was still laughing quietly in short awkward bursts, and Draco couldn’t help but join him.  A nearby owl sent a judgemental hoot in their direction, and flew off as they walked off together toward the door.  Draco tried to scowl at it, but it didn’t work – he couldn’t keep the smile off his face. 

 

 

                The corridors of Hogwarts stretched on, dark and chilled by the winter air.  The rest of the students had long gone, and the only person awake in the castle seemed to be Filch, prowling about on the third floor with Mrs. Norris. 

 

“That’s if the Map’s not lying,” Draco muttered with a skeptical glance at the old parchment. 

 

“The Map never lies,” Harry told him automatically, and grinned again as he saw the caretaker’s little dot float into a lavatory.  So even Filch needs to piss sometimes.  Who knew. 

 

                Draco pulled on his arm as he nearly walked past the entrance to the dungeons, and laughed quietly. 

 

“Idiot,” he said lovingly.  “How the hell did you survive all these years?” 

 

“I have no idea,” Harry admitted, leaning over to plant a small kiss on his jaw.  “This thing helped, though.” 

 

“Hm.  At least now I know how you always managed to be such a nuisance.” 

 

“Come on.  Just admit that the Map is awesome,” Harry said, and smiled as Draco’s expression shifted toward reluctant approval.  “It shows every passage.  Everything.  Everyone.” 

 

“What about me?” Draco asked curiously.  “Does it show all of me?” 

 

“Yeah,” Harry nodded.  “It does – look, they’re all down in the Common Room…  Wait.  No, they’re not.” 

 

“What?”

 

Draco squinted at the little moving dots labeled with his name, trying to count them. 

 

“It’s not all of them,” Harry frowned, pointing with the glowing tip of his wand.  “There’s only four – ”

 

“That’s because I’m here,” said a quiet voice, and they whipped around. 

 

                A second Draco stepped from the shadows.  He was shivering slightly, and his hair seemed to flicker in the amber light of a nearby torch. 

 

“Draco?..” Harry raised his eyebrows.  “What are you doing here?  You’re not even wearing a coat – ”

 

“I’m – I’m not going to stay long.” 

 

“Uh.  Okay.  But why – ”

 

                Harry broke off as this Draco crossed the hall quickly, nearly running towards him – and threw his arms around Harry, pulling him into a tight hug.  Harry chuckled lightly, and hugged him back.  His smile fell as he suddenly realized that Draco was crying – almost silently, save for a few sniffles that were muffled by Harry’s jumper. 

 

                His fingers clutched at Harry’s coat, and Harry stroked his back, confused and trying to be as gentle as he could. 

 

“Hey – what’s wrong?..” he tried.  “Draco, what’s wrong?” 

 

“Nothing,” he whispered back.  “N-nothing really, I just…  I think I wanted to say thank you.” 

 

                Harry frowned. 

 

“For what?” 

 

“For not leaving,” Draco said softly. 

 

                He lifted his head and pulled back slightly, his red-rimmed grey eyes gazing into Harry’s.  He leaned in and kissed him slowly.  Harry responded, unsure and not completely understanding –

 

                Then, just as suddenly as he started it, Draco broke the hug.  He turned and ran back, his footsteps ringing out in the empty hall as his pale form disappeared into the clammy darkness of the Hogwarts dungeons. 

 

                Harry stared after him for a while and turned back to Draco, who was standing awkwardly at the corner and pretending to be very occupied with his nails. 

 

“What was that about?..”

 

“How should I know?” Draco scoffed. 

 

“It’s you.  You should know.  Which one was it, at least?”  Harry asked. 

 

“The…  The Sad one.  I think.” 

 

                Harry approached him quietly and reached out to rest his hand on Draco’s neck, smiling as he leaned into his palm.  He brushed Draco’s jaw carefully with his thumb, and closed the distance between them to press against him, tucking his face into Draco’s shoulder. 

 

“Is he…  Are you better now?” he asked tentatively when Draco’s fingers curled around his own. 

 

                Draco was silent for a moment. 

 

“I think so,” he said finally.  “This was…  I wasn’t sad.  I think I’m just relieved.  That you haven’t run off for good.” 

 

                Harry looked up, grinning. 

 

“I’m not going to run off,” he said.  “You’d have to drag me.  Kicking and screaming.” 

 

                The corners of Draco’s mouth twitched up. 

 

“Well.  We both know I’m too lazy for that, don’t we, Potter?” 

 

“It’s _Harry_.  And I’m glad you are.  It would be a losing battle anyway,” Harry told him. 

 

                He leaned up and kissed Draco gently.  Then he pulled on his hand, and they walked down to the common room, following Draco’s double down the corridor.  

 

 

 

 


	4. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys - that's it! The epilogue is posted, and this fic is officially done. Enjoy, comment, etc =)

                The sun was shining, and the sky hung piercingly blue above the Hogwarts grounds.  The breeze carried in it the first sweet promise of spring as it rushed, fresh and alive, between the old towers.  It tugged at Harry’s hair, and he laughed at its futile attempts at untangling it. 

 

“Hold on, we’re going down!” he yelled against the wind. 

 

                Draco’s arms tightened around his waist, and Harry angled the Firebolt sideways.  He circled once before bringing it down, and they landed on the roof of one of the countless little towers that stuck out of the old castle like pointed mushrooms, warmed by the tentative April sunlight. 

 

                Harry plopped down on the rough tiles, and put his arm around Draco when he sat next to him, leaning against his side. 

 

“It’s beautiful up here, isn’t it?” he sighed.  “Best in the autumn, though – then you can see all the trees changing colours around the lake…  Wait, where’d you get that?” 

 

                Draco smirked as he pulled a Golden Snitch out of his pocket.  Its delicate wings unraveled in his hand, and gave a cautious flick, glinting in the sun. 

 

“Oh, you know.  Above the Quidditch pitch, where I caught it…  Right from under your nose,” he drawled. 

 

“Shut up, that’s not what I meant,” Harry laughed.  “Why do you still have it?” 

 

                Draco released the Snitch pensively, and caught it again as it tried to dart away. 

 

“I don’t know,” he said.  “I like it.” 

 

“Hm.” 

 

                They fell silent.  Draco kept playing with the Snitch, letting it go and zoom around excitedly – only to catch it once more just as it tried to shoot out of reach. 

 

“Show-off,” Harry chuckled. 

 

                Draco’s other hand snaked down to lace their fingers together, and he squeezed it fondly.  The valley was spread below them, a melting, breathing mirror of the sky above – and somehow, in that moment, Harry felt like it was all theirs, the whole vast expanse of it. 

 

It was theirs, because they were alive, and real, and together, and –

 

“I love you,” he said quietly, and Draco sat up, turning to face him.  His eyes were wide and bright as he twisted around, catching Harry’s hand with both of his. 

 

“You do?” he whispered.  “Really?” 

 

                Harry nodded, and Draco gave a small breathy laugh, clutching his hand. 

 

“I…  I love you too,” he said.  “I love you.  I love – ”

 

                Harry leaned forward, and covered Draco’s mouth with his own.  They kissed, both tenderly and passionately, forgetting everything else.  They could only feel each other, and taste each other’s lips, and they didn’t even notice the little Golden Snitch zip away, relishing its newfound freedom. 

               

                It flitted around their heads several times, before coming down to rest on Draco’s shoulder.  

 


End file.
